


Banshee

by asecretchord



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Crime, Domestic Violence, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-21
Updated: 2014-02-21
Packaged: 2018-01-13 06:12:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1215622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asecretchord/pseuds/asecretchord
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry's first case as a homicide detective takes him to Hogwarts where nightmares beyond his imagining await him. Written for the 2013 Secret Snarry Swap.</p><p>Prompt #16: "Harry is very much in love with his lover (not Severus) and refuses to believe his friends when they tell him that what he and his lover share isn't love. Severus has to heal Harry after his lover crosses a line and this is where their (Harry and Severus's) love story begins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Banshee

Harry Potter strode into the Ministry ballroom with easy grace, his dress robes swirling elegantly around his feet. He smiled brightly at his friends as he approached the small, round banquet table hiding in the furthermost corner, his date trailing almost hesitantly in his wake. At long last, Harry was attending an event that was not in his honour, one where he wasn't the centre of attention; where he was one of many instead the one they all stared at as though he was an exhibit in a museum.

"It looks like half the department is here tonight," he said to Ron as he pulled out a chair for Justin. "I hope Mundungus and his lot didn't get the memo." As soon as Justin was settled, Harry walked around the table to brush a kiss hello on Hermione's cheek and leaned over to give Ginny a one-armed hug.

Ron shot Justin a cursory glance before grinning at Harry. "That's why we've gave the rookies tonight's duty. There's nothing quite like a bunch of green Aurors petrified of making a mistake to keep Diagon Alley quiet on a Saturday night. They'd bring them in for littering if they could."

Harry laughed as he sat down with his boyfriend, his left hand stealing into the hair at the nape of Justin's neck, his fingers toying with the wavy strands. Justin gave him a wintry smile but didn't pull away. "Not even the crooks want to be out in the middle of February, which makes it a perfect time for the promotions banquet." He turned in his seat and looked out over the ballroom. "Even Kingsley made it."

"Well, you know," said Ron, "once an Auror, always an Auror."

"I suspect he misses it," said Hermione. "Being the head of the department during the war still must have been an easier job than being Minister of Magic."

"Especially when he has someone like you sending him legislation to pass," replied Harry with a grin. "But he's supported a lot of changes and he's made it possible to enact some real reforms. We could have had it a lot worse."

"I don't reckon you'd have lasted long with Pius Thicknesse in charge," interjected Ginny with a bright laugh while beside her Roger Davies choked on his sip of water.

"At the very least he'd have made us sit our NEWTs," said Ron.

"Like he'd have hired Undesirables #1 and #2 in the first place," scoffed Harry. "I reckon we wouldn't have done well with the background investigation either." He cleared his throat and arched an eyebrow as he affected a pompous attitude. "It says here, Mr Potter, that you've robbed a bank, broke into secure Ministry departments, used Unforgivable curses, caused the destruction of Hogwarts and murdered a Dark Lord. You do realise that the Department of Magical Law Enforcement discourages that sort of behaviour, correct? Not condones it?" Harry spoke in the slow, dark tones of Rufus Scrimgeour, which brought laughter spilling from Ron and Hermione's lips.

All through their meal of rubberised chicken buried beneath a forgettable herb sauce, Justin sat quietly as the conversation bounced between Harry and the others. His eyes moved from face to face as rest of the table shared anecdotes and he smiled at all the right times, but the smile never touched his eyes. Only when Harry's promotion from patrol to detective was announced did Justin come alive. His blue eyes shone and his smile was brilliant.

From up on the dais, Harry met Justin's eyes and glowed, basking in his partner's approval. Williamson, his watch commander, presented Harry with his new credentials and shook his hand as Roger took his official photo for the next edition of the _Daily Prophet_.

Justin blushed and squirmed when Harry dropped a kiss on his lips and refused to look up from his half-eaten lemon tartlet. "Hey, we agreed we'd act like everyone else," murmured Harry. "If Ron had been promoted tonight, don't you think he'd have given Hermione a kiss when he showed off his new shield?"

"We're not them though, Harry," whispered Justin. "We're...different." Harry knew Justin still struggled with his sexuality, but Harry told him back in the earliest days of their relationship that he had no intention of setting foot back in the closet, not that it was even possible for someone like him.

"We're magical, just like they are. We're human," Harry whispered back while the rest of the promotions were announced. "There's going to be dancing in a bit. Are you going to dance with me? Or should I just ask Ginny and Hermione?"

"Why not ask Ron if it doesn't matter?" asked Justin, his tone edged with mild venom.

"If it would help you enjoy tonight, I'd ask him," replied Harry, his brow furrowed. He glanced across the table and through the annoying centrepiece at Ron, who was lifting a bottle of ale to his lips and listening to Harper whinge on about the duty rota for the upcoming month. "He might even say yes if it means he can stop being a sergeant for a few minutes."

Harry's eyes drifted around to gaze at their dining companions. He and Justin were one of five couples seated at the spacious round table and he wished that Justin was able to focus on their similarities rather than on the one thing that set them apart.

The musical quartet in the corner played 'Jerusalem' and a number of Muggleborns began to sing, something that still surprised Harry no matter how often he'd seen it happen. With no further ado, the small band broke into a lively tune from the Big Band era and couples began to fill the dance floor.

It was nothing like dancing to the Weird Sisters; it was much closer to the ballroom style McGonagall struggled to teach them way back in Harry's fourth year. It had taken a few lessons on the QT before Harry and Ron got the hang of it, but as long as nothing too complicated was asked of them, they could dance their way through a modified box step without mangling too many toes. Hermione had something approximating natural grace, so Ron usually managed to appear somewhat proficient.

Harry wasn't so lucky. When it came to dancing, he was not the natural-born leader everyone thought him to be and he needed a partner who knew where to put his or her feet so that he wouldn't cause a collision on the dance floor. Flying through the air at a hundred miles per hour in search of the Snitch was much less terrifying than dancing.

"Will you dance with me?" Harry asked, unable to keep the hope from shining in his eyes. "Please?"

Justin gave him a despairing look and shook his head slightly. "We'll be the only men dancing with one another and they'll stare at us. I—I—I can't." He drew his arms close and stared down at the snowy white tablecloth. "I know you're tired of this, sweetie, but I can't bear to be the centre of attention. It's why I'm an accountant."

"Baby, you're hardly an accountant," scoffed Harry lightly. "You're only in charge of currency and stock exchanges for all of wizarding Britain. It's bloody important, the work you do. I'm just a constable: a wizard with a badge and some really nifty shield charms."

"I really do love you, Harry."

Harry's smile was as wide as the room. He turned sideways in his seat, resting his elbows on his knees and took one of Justin's hands between his own. "I know you do, baby." He brought Justin's hand up to his lips and kissed it. "So, do you want to ask Hermione or Ginny to dance? If I can't dance with you, at least I can watch, right?"

"How about you dance and I watch?" replied Justin with a slow smile. He ran lustful eyes over Harry and drank in the view...until he caught Ron giving him an appraising glance. His eyes shuttered instantly and Harry heard the familiar click of Justin's closet swinging shut. Again.

He gave Ron an arch look and then gestured towards the dance floor with his head. He sat there for a moment and if there was a bit of blame in his expression, then he attributed the reason behind it to Ron. "Well?" he asked.

Ron's eyes cut towards Hermione and he scowled a bit when she pressed her lips in a thin line as she usually did whenever Ron managed to trample on Harry's feelings. Which was pretty damned often as far as she was concerned. "Right, then, only this time I lead. I swear you broke a toe last time. Hurt for a week, it did, and I could barely get my boots on."

Justin sat up straight and his jaw dropped a bit. "You'll dance with Harry? _Here?_ "

It was no secret that Ron didn't care much for Justin. He thought little of him when they were students at Hogwarts and thought even less of him now, though for Harry's sake he did try to keep his distaste hidden. "He's my best mate and his boyfriend doesn't want to," Ron pointed out. "It won't be the first time I've danced with Harry at one of these things." Ron didn't have to add that he hoped it would be the last.

The two of them walked to the dance floor and fumbled around for a bit until they worked out where to put their hands before starting to dance. "It doesn't matter how often we do this," murmured Ron, "it will never not be weird."

"It's weird for me too," admitted Harry as he remembered to step backwards just in time to keep from trouncing on Ron's foot. "It's not that I don't like dancing with you, but I've never quite worked out why it's easier to dance with Hermione or Ginny than with you."

"Probably because you're not working out whether you're attracted to them or not."

Harry chuckled. "I'm not attracted to you, either. Never have been." His eyes sparkled as he met Ron's gaze. "And damned if we don't have this same conversation every single time."

"We wouldn't have it all if your boyfriend weren't—"

"Don't," said Harry sharply. "I know you don't much care for Justin and I know nothing's going to change that. But you know he's the first guy I've ever been with who loves me for me. Not for being famous or for what might be in my vaults." The Weasleys all knew it was far less than the _Prophet_ made it to be. "He has more money than I ever will and his family are well-connected, but he _needs_ me."

"He's just so..." Ron's hand tightened on Harry's and his eyebrows drew close together. "I know he had it rough during That Year." They never spoke of the war directly if they could help it. "But he's still afraid of his own shadow. And he lashes out. There's just something...off about him."

"He worries about me, Ron," said Harry as he twirled under Ron's arm. He cast his eyes over the people still sitting at the banquet tables and gave in to the urge to sigh. No one was paying him and Ron any attention at all. "He knows our job can be dangerous. He knows that criminals aren't all that keen on being caught."

"And he contacts you about a hundred times a day, always checking up on you. He's worse than Hermione."

"Hermione works in our building, you git. Justin's over at Gringotts or somewhere in the City with the Muggles. Plus, he has regular Monday to Friday hours so it might be days before we see each other."

"You live together."

"Yeah, same as you and Hermione," said Harry dryly. "Wasn't it you going on and on last week about how you were missing your wife?" Ron had the decency to colour. "And don't even start to say it's not the same."

"I wouldn't!" retorted Ron, stung. "It just...look, Harry, you and Justin just don't make sense. The blokes you've been with before—"

"All two of them?"

"Have been brilliant, I mean Hermione-brilliant, not, well, yeah. Anyway, they've all been older, clever, witty—"

"Pretentious, scheming, sarcastic money-grubbing twats," groused Harry.

"We just want to see you happy. That's it."

"Why can't you see that I _am_ happy? Justin makes me happy. He loves me, Ron. He. Loves. Me. And I love him."

Ron muttered something about Devil's Snare and as much as Harry was thankful for the opportunity to dance with someone of the gender of his choice, he was very tired of having this same conversation with Ron over and over again. Yes, Justin worried more than was probably healthy. Yes, Justin had a horrible temper. Yes, Justin still felt like an enormous disappointment to his family, but when they were alone in the flat they shared in Canary Wharf Harry felt entirely at ease and happy with his life. And so did Justin.

Ron and Harry remained on the dance floor for the next song, a quick two-step thing that their lessons hadn't covered at that tempo. They gave it up as a lost cause after Ron spun Harry into another couple and they nearly tripped each other when they both tried to occupy the same spot at the same time. "I think I'll ask Ginny if she'd like a go," winced Harry as he limped back to their table. "She doesn't weigh nearly as much."

"And that's why you should dance with Hermione instead of me." Ron flopped into his chair as Harry slid gracefully back into his seat. He looked out at the couples dancing and shook his head. "Who would ever believe that the esteemed members of the Auror Corps can manage a proper foxtrot?"

Hermione rolled her eyes as Harry snorted. "I've yet to see you manage a half-arsed one," she said with an evil glint in her eye. "Come on, then. Show me how it's done." She pulled Ron to his feet and flashed Ginny a saucy grin when Ginny dragged Roger along with them, leaving Harry and Justin alone.

"You see?" said Harry, his finger tracing idle patterns on Justin's thigh, "Ron danced with me and nothing happened. You're safe." Harry gestured with his hand. "They all know me here. They know we're together, and I know you're a bloody good dancer."

"Not that good," said Justin with a wry smile. "I know I'm being stupid about this, love. It's the way I was brought up, I'm afraid. Little boys danced with little girls and men dance with women, no matter how.... What is it?" he asked. Harry's eyes began track Williamson as the watch commander moved with purpose through the room.

"I don't know yet." Harry's eyes swept along the head table and narrowed when he caught sight of two junior officers waiting impatiently, their red cloaks standing out against the polished wood walls like beacons signalling a warning. "But it doesn't look promising." He bit the inside of his cheek, praying that their night wasn't about to be ruined.

Harry's luck never was that good.

The senior Auror bent low and murmured quietly in Harry's ear. "Potter, I need you to notify your unit and meet us in the ready room in thirty minutes, less if you can manage it." Williamson shot Justin a sympathetic glance. "I do apologise for disrupting your night, Mr Finch-Fletchley. We have an emergency and Mr Potter is best suited for leading the investigation."

Harry's blood chilled at hearing that. He'd spent the last two years working in the Major Crimes unit and was called only when things went pear-shaped in a bad way. "Full team, I take it?"

Williamson nodded. "I'm afraid so. I'll brief you when we've assembled." He gave Harry's shoulder a squeeze and moved on to the next table whilst Harry signalled Ron and beckoned him off the dance floor.

"Time to go, mate. We've thirty minutes to change and get back to the Ministry." Harry offered his hand to Justin. "I don't reckon you want to stay with Ginny and Hermione?"

Justin's eyes were icy and he shook his head slightly. Moments later, he, Harry, and Ron were at the Apparition Point and whirling away to their respective destinations.

ssHPss

Tucked away at the end of the High Street in Hogsmeade, not very far from Scriveners, was a small lath and plaster building with a thatched roof that sagged in places. Rough hewn timbers that no longer cared if they stood upright served as corner posts for walls that tilted every which way. The oak door was the most solid thing about it; the few people who ever noticed the building believed that if it were to collapse, the door would be left standing.

It had a forlorn air to it, with retired post owls nesting in the eaves. No one was ever seen going in and even fewer people were seen coming out. It was just there, the same way a faded signpost might remain at a junction long after the letters have worn away. The only remarkable thing about the building, no larger than a hut, was the oversize chimney that serviced a monstrous fireplace. It could be said that the fireplace took up the entire dwelling, and they would be right.

The flames—there was always a fire going—flared bright emerald green and one by one people in dark uniforms with crimson cloaks stepped out onto the hearth, turned in one spot and disappeared with a sharp crack. Eight, nine, ten pairs of boots stepped through and vanished, leaving only another set of smudged footprints to show they'd been there at all.

Once Harry's team had gathered in front of the boar's head gates, he sent his Patronus up to the castle and waited to be let in. The brilliant white stag had barely left his wand before Hagrid was inserting a giant key into an enormous lock. "Th' headmaster is waitin' for ye in the Hospital Wing," he said, forgoing his usual bone-crushing hug. "It's a bad business, Harry. Ain't never seen nothin' like it b'fore." He mopped his eyes with his tablecloth sized handkerchief before blowing his nose.

"We'll get it sorted, Hagrid," replied Harry. "My team's the best there is." He glanced at Ron as he gave Hagrid's forearm a squeeze, marvelling yet again at the sheer size of the man. "I'll come round for a visit whilst I'm up here. It's about time I met Talon." Talon was Hagrid's boarhound puppy and already the size of a Shetland pony.

"Yer a good lad, Harry. The two of you've solved bigger problems than this, you and Ron have. Get along now. You'll not want to keep Himself waiting." Hagrid lifted his lantern and trudged towards his hut near the eaves of the Forbidden Forest without saying goodbye and Harry made a note to speak with the gamekeeper in a day or so. Hagrid almost always knew more about the goings on at Hogwarts than most people suspected.

"Meredith," said Harry as he paused in front of the enormous oak doors of the castle. "I want you to head up the morgue detail. Ron, I'd like you, Virgil, Maxine, and Abbie to conduct interviews. Remember, most of the people you'll be speaking with are children. They'll be frightened, even if they don't show it."

The short, dark-haired woman gave Harry a keen look. "I'm on it, Harry," she replied in a strong voice. Meredith had been a magical forensic specialist for twenty years and knew more ways to kill a person than Harry could ever have imagined. She'd started her career during the first war with Voldemort and had developed charms that could link spell residue to a specific type of wand. Harry didn't know spells even left residue until he'd started working with her.

They stepped into the Entrance Hall and gazed around. The Great Stair was deserted. Peeves was nowhere in sight. None of the Heads of House were there to greet them. Not even the portraits were speaking. The silence hung like a heavy shroud and Harry motioned to his team and started up the stairs.

The Hospital Wing was located on the first floor, and both Harry and Ron knew the way well. "Until we know what we're facing, speak to no one other than the headmaster and Madam Pomfrey."

"Is she still here, then?" asked Ron. "I reckoned she'd retired already. She was ancient when we were here."

"She's still matron here," replied Harry, "though I heard she'd taken an apprentice. I've no idea who it might be, though." He pushed his way through the doors and led the rest of the squad inside.

The infirmary appeared the same as it had done the last time Harry had been a patient there. Two long rows of occupied beds stretched from one end to the other with Healers swirling around them like a pandemonium of bright green parrots, but this time a transfigured sheet divided the room in two. Silencing Charms shimmered around the makeshift barricade and Harry felt them tingle against his skin as he stepped through uninvited.

It was a scene from a nightmare and Harry's nose twitched at the smell of death that hung in the air. He removed the first sheet so Winston Adams, the team's photographer, could take pictures of the corpse and Harry closed his eyes for a moment to steel himself. The body belonged to a fifteen year old boy, not yet a man, and there was a ragged hole where his heart should have been. Blood covered the boy's hands and wrists; his fingernails were jagged and torn.

He picked up the scroll of parchment that hung at the foot of the bed. "Lucien Willard, Ravenclaw," he read aloud. "Sliced himself open with a potions knife and tore his own heart out. How on earth...?" The blood drained from his face and he exchanged horrified looks with Ron.

"Why? Why would he do that?" Ron's voice shook and his skin was grey. The rest of the team looked no better.

"Do we know where he was when this happened?" asked Naomi in a hush. She was a Seer who had a gift for reading sympathetic magic and could put two and two together before most people realised there was a problem. Harry still couldn't make heads or tails out of her reports, but she was right far more often than she was wrong, and no one could sift through Pensieve memories like she could.

"It says he was in the Arithmancy classroom, but if that's the case, where did the knife come from?" As Harry read on, Winston took photographs and Meredith Summoned dust and debris from the body to deposit in specially marked plastic bags.

The Department of Magical Law Enforcement had undergone a sea change during Harry's tenure. Gone were the antiquated methods of deducing 'who done it' and all Aurors moving off patrol and into one of the newly created specialty divisions were required to take courses in Criminalistics and Forensics at Scotland Yard. They even used microscopes now, though their best breakthroughs still came to them via the judicious application of magic.

The next body, that of Hufflepuff Panthea McClamrock, had come out on the losing side of an apparent battle between Devil's Snare and Venomous Tentacula. The poor girl was encased head to toe in a thick web of vines, many of which appeared to have erupted from her skin. Harry was tempted to write it off as an appalling coincidence until Meredith pointed out that it looked like the girl had attempted to devour the Devil's Snare and the plant had fought back.

"If you recall from Herbology, Devil's Snare attacks from behind, Harry, and it always starts at the feet. If you follow the vine down her body, you can see where the thinnest parts of the vine are looped around her ankles instead of her neck. It didn't start there. I think she bit the fleshy part near the root, not at the top where you'd expect to find teeth marks."

"And the Venomous Tentacula?"

"Well..." Meredith paused. "It bit her, but I've not figured out how she came in contact with it. They're not kept anywhere near each other, but they're all tangled together here. It will take some time before we understand what happened."

On it went: a fall from the top of the Astronomy Tower, one self immolation, a boy who stabbed himself over twenty times, another who attacked a suit of armour and lost his life in a collision with a morning star flail. It was every bit as bad as the Battle of Hogwarts and Harry shook his head. What had gone so badly wrong here at the castle? And where was Snape? He was supposed to meet them, but Harry hadn't seen hide nor hair of him yet.

Whilst the others collected evidence and examined the bodies, Harry sat at a small desk near the curtained divider to catalogue his impressions. He prepared a list of questions; avenues of inquiry that required investigation. So caught up in his work was he that it took a moment for the shadow that fell across his parchment to register. "Professor Snape," he said as a sharp frisson ran down his spine like ice water.

Coal black eyes regarded him steadily, but Harry came to his feet and greeted the Headmaster as one professional to another. He extended his hand and prayed he wouldn't be left standing in the centre of the makeshift morgue like a berk.

The first thing Harry noticed—other than Snape's eyes—was that the headmaster's robes were dark blue. The cut was still severe, but Harry knew now that such robes were favoured by Potioneers and were imminently more practical than the flowing—some would say flashy—robes Albus Dumbledore once preferred. No matter how long he lived, Harry would never be able to envision Snape wearing robes spangled with stars. But the blue suited him and Harry noticed.

"Mr Potter," said Snape in measured tones that were much warmer than Harry expected. "Given the circumstances, it would be unseemly to welcome you to Hogwarts, but I am grateful for your presence nonetheless." His gaze encompassed the rest of the team and Harry understood the greeting was intended for all of them. "I am pleased to note the Ministry sent someone competent."

Harry wasn't certain how to take that, but his eyes reflected nothing more than friendly inquisitiveness. "Tell me everything you know about this," said Harry as his forensics team began to prepare the bodies for transport to St Mungo's.

Snape's expression became hard, angry, when his gaze expanded to take in the bodies, now lying exposed as the Aurors conducted their examinations. Headmaster Severus Snape hadn't appeared so livid since the night Harry had seen him fleeing Hogwarts with Draco Malfoy in tow. 'No Unforgivables from you, Mr Potter,' he had snarled as he'd blocked Harry's futile attempts to curse him. Even now as Snape clenched his wand in his fist, Harry was afraid that Snape's anger was sufficient to crush it to kindling.

"Professor?"

"Not here, Potter." Snape's black eyes spit fire as they swept along the line of occupied beds in the Hospital Wing of Hogwarts. Ten more students would remain in the infirmary for an indefinite period of time and several teams of Healers had taken the Floo to Hogwarts to assist Madam Pomfrey in her efforts to heal them. "Come up to my office."

Harry gave a sharp nod and began walking the length of the infirmary alongside Snape, pausing only to give Ron a few additional instructions. "Interview the Head Boy and Girl—"

"And then the prefects," said Ron in a hush as they walked past the wounded. "They'll know who the victims' friends are. I'm also sending Marshall and Winter to Hogsmeade first thing in the morning to poke around a bit. Maybe someone noticed something odd. Is Williamson handling the notifications?"

"No, Mr Weasley," said Snape in the same crisp tone. "I notified the families personally some time ago. I only contacted the Auror Corps once that duty had been done, though I am uncertain about what is to happen next."

"I'll explain it to you when we're upstairs." Harry gave Ron a brief nod before striding with Snape through the doors at the end of the corridor. His stomach was churning as they headed up the Great Stair, his thoughts so tumultuous that nostalgia never had an opportunity to make an appearance. He paced at the gargoyle as he waited for it to spring aside to allow Snape access to the headmaster's tower and remained silent as the two of them rode the stairs up to the door.

The rows of portraits were the only things familiar about the headmaster's office. Gone were all the enchanting magical instruments that littered Dumbledore's office, as were Fawkes' perch and the cabinet that housed the Pensieve. The floor was bare and the numerous bookcases had been replaced with a stone laboratory bench that held more potions equipment than did the forensics lab back at the Ministry.

"Do you still brew for the Hospital Wing?" asked Harry as he flipped out a notepad and a Quick Quotes quill.

"Is this an official inquiry or are you making small talk?" said Snape as he sat heavily at his desk. He buried his face in his hands briefly before he dragged his hands through his hair and gazed up at Harry. "I regret we had to meet again under such circumstances."

This was unexpected and Harry took a moment to really look at the headmaster. The scowl that seemed permanently etched on Snape's face whilst Harry was a student at Hogwarts was gone, his careworn face open and honest. His elegant hands were still stained with the remnants of hundreds of ingredients, but his long, slender fingers were still graceful even as they rubbed in tiny circles at his temples. His fine, black hair now glinted with threads of silver. His troubled dark eyes gazed at Harry over half-moon spectacles perched on his infamous hooked nose and for a moment, Harry was strongly reminded of Dumbledore, who wore a similar expression the night Sirius Black had been killed.

"It's been a very long time," said Harry quietly as he surreptitiously drank in the details of Snape's appearance, and his heart skipped a beat. At some point, Harry knew, Ron was going to take a moment or ten to point out to Harry that the headmaster was precisely Harry's type, and for once, he wouldn't be wrong. "I know this has been a horribly long day, so I'll try to keep this meeting brief. I don't want to take any more of your time than is necessary."

A flash of anger appeared in Snape's eyes, but vanished so quickly that Harry wondered if he'd imagined it. "You may have as much of my time as you require. I wish to know what happened to these children so that I can take whatever steps are necessary to see that it never happens again.

"As for your question, I brew a small number of the potions used here at Hogwarts. Most of my brewing is done for the Ministry. I am also a member of the Review Board for the Guild of Potioneers. It is my privilege to provide oversight for the Research Division's experimental trials and ensure that proper protocols are being followed. They are not allowed to administer potions that I cannot replicate here."

Harry nodded and scribbled a few notes before wandering around, taking a moment to familiarise himself with the bits and bobs that decorated Snape's office. Well-ordered shelves of ingredients lined one wall and more laboratory equipment than he could name hung from pegs on another. He peered into a cauldron on the work bench and sniffed lightly. "I see several cauldrons that appear to be under stasis charms. Are those experimental potions?" 

"No." Snape shook his head and pressed his fingertips together. "I have the base for Bruise Balm simmering in the left-hand cauldron. It can keep for up to seven days. In the centre cauldron is a nearly completed batch of Skele-Gro and I have Blood-Replenisher curing in the copper cauldron on the right." One brow arched as Snape gave Harry a pointed look. "Ravenclaw play Slytherin next Saturday and Poppy prefers to have the infirmary well-stocked."

"Where do you make your more advanced potions?" asked Harry as he jotted down another note. As he did, he recalled his Quidditch career and thought to himself that it was a toss-up whether Hufflepuff or Slytherin were the tougher opponents. Still, it was a mark in his good books that Snape ensured that the House Quidditch teams were well taken care of, going so far as to brew their potions himself, though Harry strongly suspected Snape would deny it if asked. He found himself fighting a smile as he added a thought to his notes.

"I am happy to show you my private laboratory, Auror Potter," said Snape after a moment's hesitation. "But I'm afraid I do not see the connection between the brewing I do for the Guild and today's disaster."

Harry met Snape's eyes squarely and the air between them suddenly became electric. He swallowed heavily and then said, "You are a Potions Master with decades of experience, Headmaster. From what I've seen and based the evidence my team has gathered so far, it appears these students succumbed to altered substances of one sort or another. It strikes me as odd that you've not reached the same conclusions yourself." He turned suddenly to face the bench again, his left hand stealing into his pocket, the air cooling his heated cheeks.

Snape's eyes flashed, but again the anger faded quickly. "That these students may have been poisoned was the first thing that came to mind," Harry could almost hear the 'idiot boy' underneath, "but I know of nothing that would account for the horrors of tonight. Any potion that could do this.... Would you do me the courtesy of listening to me when I speak?"

A light flush stole over Harry's cheeks and he shoved a charmed Galleon back into his pocket before he returned Snape's gaze. Thank Merlin for Justin's insecurities. He could, if pressed, use them as the excuse for his blush. "My apologies. 'Any potion that could do this...'" he prompted.

"Potter, my expertise is in healing potions and antidotes to poisons. There was a time in my past when I was required to create poisons that worked quickly and left no trace, but I assure you that nothing I ever envisioned had an effect such as this." For a moment, Snape was visibly distraught, but he gathered his dignity around him and met Harry's eyes with clear resolve. "I refuse to believe that what happened tonight was an attempt to discredit the work I do here."

For a moment, Harry appeared startled and he felt a rush of protectiveness towards Snape. "No. God, no." He got up from his chair and wandered over to the cauldrons, inhaling deeply at the familiar aroma that whisked him back to lonely nights in the infirmary. He took a moment whilst his back was turned to pull the Galleon back out, whispered to it, and then tapped it with his wand. Task complete, the Galleon slid back into his pocket. "Tonight I received my promotion to Homicide Detective, did you know? This is my first case."

Snape inclined his head. "Congratulations, Detective Potter. Might I presume that your promotion was in part predicated on the ability to conduct an interrogation?"

Harry whirled swiftly, his eyes wide. "Is that what you believe this is? And please call me Harry. We've known each other for far too long to stand on formalities."

For a moment, Snape appeared perplexed. "If this is not an interrogation, what is it? It seems clear to me that I am a suspect."

"No!" Harry shook his head violently. "Merlin, no. I'm sorry I gave you that impression. I'm hoping you can help me make heads or tails of what happened, but I'm guessing that I should bring you up to speed on what the Department has been working on. I thought you'd know since you're with the Guild and all, but I guess they're just as compartmentalised as we are."

"Each Master has his or her own area of interest." A wry smile flickered about Snape's lips for a moment before the corners of his mouth curved down in a grimace. "In my youth I once entertained the notion of becoming a Healer, but it was suggested to me that my personality might not be in keeping with my aspirations."

It was hard, very hard, to keep from laughing, and were a part of the Hospital Wing not serving as a makeshift morgue, Harry might have done so. "Sir," he said with quiet confidence, "I believe you can do anything you put your mind to. But let me tell you about the investigation the Illicit Potions Division is running."

Harry pulled a chair up close to Snape's desk whilst the headmaster tapped his wand to the surface and said, "Tea for two." It appeared almost instantly, a ribbon of steam wafting from the spout and Harry poured a splash of milk into his cup before asking silently if Snape took his the same way.

Their hands moved in a practised dance as Harry took charge of the milk, Snape the sugar and then pouring out, as if they'd done this a hundred times instead of this being the first time they'd ever sat down to tea together as colleagues. The warmth that spread through him had little to do with tea and his belly did a slow roll as he locked eyes with Snape.

"You know," said Harry as he blew lightly on his tea to cool it, needing the distraction, "when I was a kid, you accused me of having a boundless ego and took great pains to remind me that the world did not revolve around me." He took a sip and thought it marvellous, thinking that there were moments when nothing but tea would ever do. "Perhaps you should consider taking a page from your own book."

To Harry's amusement, it appeared that Snape was about to launch into one of his famous tirades, but his jaws snapped shut with an audible click. He was not laughing at Snape, nor was he attempting to even the scales at Snape's expense. Harry had matured; his innate sense of fairness and professionalism kept this meeting from devolving into one of their characteristic shouting matches, though Harry suspected that a flare of passions between them would have a much different result now.

Snape looked at him with renewed respect and Harry basked in the approval. "Point," said Snape. "Though it must not come as any surprise to you that there are any number of people who would like nothing more than to see me fail as Hogwarts' headmaster."

"Perhaps," acknowledged Harry, "but I am not one of them," he added firmly. "About three years ago, we received word from the American Bureau of Magical Investigations that some enterprising potioneer operating out of Hong Kong found a way to synthesise together several Muggle narcotics to which she added a particularly strong strain of something called Israfil's Trumpet. We asked Pomona about it at the time, but she'd never heard of it.

"Anyway, when it reached the States, the formula was refined a bit and one of the older narcotics swapped out with something newer and, well, umm...." Harry busied himself with his tea for a moment and wondered why he was suddenly finding it difficult to tell Snape about the drug. "Once the Americans got a hold of it, well, it started to include some sexual side effects." Harry's cheeks heated.

"Or perhaps it was intended to produce them," said Snape calmly, though his smouldering gaze never left Harry's face. "There are certain communities that regularly employ the use of recreational drugs and potions to further their enjoyment of sexual activity. It is not unknown in either the Muggle or wizarding worlds."

"Yeah, well, drugs just make me paranoid," muttered Harry, earning for himself at the admission a well-arched eyebrow from Snape. "It was part of Auror Training." And strictly voluntary, but Harry omitted that part. "But after taking three years to spread throughout the States, it's now landed here and in France. We're also hearing rumblings from Polish Ministry and everyone's keeping fingers crossed that it doesn't spread into Eastern Europe.

"The problem is that it's fairly simple to manufacture if the producers are able to get their hands on some relatively pure Ecstasy, and the recipe seems to spreading faster than the recipe for chocolate biscuits. It's called Banshee." Harry shook his head and took another sip of tea, holding the cup in his hands and allowing the warmth to soak into his skin. "I've not been part of that investigation. I've been in Crimes Against the Living since I started. Different division entirely."

"A truly deplorable name for your division," remarked Snape.

"Yeah, well, it was Personal Crimes before Hermione got a hold of it. She pointed out that we've several beings that the Ministry doesn't classify as fully human so we sort of renamed ourselves so that we cover most sentient beings, including Magical Creatures." He wagged his finger at Snape. "If you ever kick a kneazle, I'll hear about it." A smile flashed across his face, but it was replaced in short order with weariness.

"I don't know how familiar you are with Muggle narcotics, but—"

"I know quite a bit about them. If it was harmful and could be used for deadly intent, the Dark Lord wanted to know about it. Opiates, stimulants, hallucinogens, even animal tranquilizers, which rightfully have a notorious reputation for the harm they cause, were employed in strategically important pockets of Muggle Britain to cover the activities of the Death Eaters during his first rise."

"Then you've heard of something called..." Harry pulled out his notebook, wanting to get the unpronounceable chemical name right, "Phencyclidine. PCP. Angel dust is its street name. And that Israfil's Trumpet is a magical variant of a plant called—"

"Angel's trumpet." A chill swept through the room and Harry could almost _hear_ Snape's Occlumency shields slam into place like a portcullis protecting a fortress. It left him feeling oddly bereft. He shelved that thought to examine later.

"You know it then. So we have this angel dust and Israfil's trumpet and Ecstasy, mixed with Amazonian Pixie Dust, which is just supposed to produce a state of euphoria, and bad things are happening. We've managed to keep most of it quiet, but someone is making some pretty horrible stuff. Normal people go completely around the twist and about half of them are taking someone along for the ride.

"So far, it's just shown up in a few clubs in the south—around Brighton and Devon. Then we got reports of some really disturbing things happening in Dover, so we checked in with the French, but they've not reported anything unusual."

"And how would they notice anything unusual? They're French."

Harry buried his amusement behind his teacup, though the laughter in his eyes betrayed him. "I doubt the French would agree." He sobered quickly and met Snape's warm gaze. "Pixie Dust has been a fixture in the club scene for years. Loud music, flashing lights, twenty somethings looking for a thrill. Throw in some sex and it's easy to see why it makes for a fun Friday night." And didn't that thought set the wheels in his head turning? He tried to cast it aside."Until now. Banshee is in a whole other category of awful."

"Indeed. I am not so naive to think that sex does not occur between the students at Hogwarts," said Snape. "We've had a few instances of under-aged drinking and some of our more ambitious students have attempted to smuggle in tobacco and marijuana. We have never had a cocaine problem here; the house-elves are notoriously sensitive to it and the one student who attempted to introduce it was discovered in so spectacular a fashion that no one has tried since."

"Really?" Harry blinked and set his cup on Snape's desk, propping his elbow on the desk and settling in to hear a bit of Hogwarts history that never made it into Hermione's favourite book. "I know I'm ridiculously sheltered in some respects..." Snape snorted. "...but can't remember ever hearing any rumours of drug use here. Not even weed."

"It was before your time, Harry. I was a new professor in my second or third year of teaching. I believe Bill Weasley might have been a first-year then, but I'm not certain. It was quite some time ago. Cocaine was quite popular with the Muggles, and a sixth or seventh year Ravenclaw brought some back with her after the Christmas break." Snape faced Harry squarely. "I do recall it was one of our female students.

"Anyway, as you know, the students' trunks are delivered to their dormitories by the house-elves, and so it was even then. The Ravenclaw in question had 'done a line'—as they call it—off the cover of her trunk. A very few grains remained on the surface, nearly invisible to the naked eye." Snape leaned back and touched his fingertips together and for a moment his eyes appeared to twinkle. Harry was very nearly alarmed.

"I need not remind you how...excitable house-elves can be. Energetic. Industrious. Indefatigable. And that's just the 'normal' ones."

"We both know Dobby was about as far from a normal house-elf as one can get." Harry's brow furrowed a bit. "Judging from the three I've known, I'm not certain I know what a normal house-elf is like."

"Now try to imagine one after it has absorbed a few grains of cocaine. Or two house-elves. Or three, all in an enclosed area like the seventh years' girls dormitory. They managed to clean the paint off the walls, the ink off the parchment, the House colours off the students' robes, the wool off the carpets, and the paint off the canvas of the portraits that hung in their common room. Fortunately, the subjects manage to escape to other paintings, so no souls were lost.

"The three house-elves then went on a four day baking binge, so we 'enjoyed' pudding with every single meal, sometimes in lieu of the meal itself."

"Not horrible for breakfast," said Harry with a grin, "but I'm not certain I'd appreciate treacle tart three times a day."

"Treacle tart, cakes, biscuits, shortbread, cakes, pies, tartlets in every flavour imaginable, and more cakes. Breads, rolls, muffins. The ovens were in use around the clock and the school used a month's worth of flour in four days. They produced so much food that they were delivering it during classes—every class except mine, of course," Snape added smugly.

"Of course," agreed Harry. "I pity the poor house-elf who breaks one of your rules."

"Quite," said Snape. "After that little incident, Albus incorporated some Shimmering Sunburst dew into their cleaning supplies and ordered the house-elves to use it for routine dusting and in the laundry detergent. The dew itself is worthless, except for one notable exception—it glows in the presence of certain alkaloids. And given the effects a single grain of the stuff can cause, it's best to keep it out of the castle."

"Four days of desserts was enough to keep the students from trying to smuggle it in?" asked Harry dubiously. "As a third year, I would have brought extras if it meant nothing but sweets for awhile."

"And so thought a group of enterprising Slytherins. I've no idea where they procured it, but they brought in enough to send every house-elf at Hogwarts into orbit." Snape's lips twitched and the humour playing around his mouth warred with the trauma Harry saw in his eyes.

"There are over eight hundred house-elves at Hogwarts. They very nearly reduced the castle to a pile of rubble. They made the beds whilst students were still sleeping in them. They gathered the all laundry whether the clothes were occupied or not. They nearly scrubbed the mortar out from between the stones. When they ran out of walls and floors to scrub, they started in on the school's inhabitants."

A laugh started to burst out of Harry but he slapped his hand over his mouth before it could escape. Snape's expression said it all; the Greasy Git of the Dungeons had not been spared.

"You said the 'one student' who attempted it," said Harry once he was certain he could speak without chortling. "And then 'a group of Slytherins'. Were you speaking of the one Ravenclaw? Or is there more to the story?" His eyes danced, though a part of him agreed with Snape that a castle full of strung-out house-elves could be terrifying.

There was a long pause during which Snape studied Harry as though weighing his attributes and finding they far surpassed his expectations. Harry very nearly squirmed under the attention, feeling the heat pool low in his belly as the moment stretched out between them. His pupils dilated and his pulse quickened; his conscience was oddly silent.

Snape held Harry's gaze. "The small band of Slytherins were led by one influential seventh year who hoped to make her mark on the world before she finished school. Her name, if I recall properly, was Lucretia Burke and because of the incident she became a bit of a pariah within the House. Several house-elves bathed her during her Care of Magical Creatures lesson and there were some hinkypunks..."

It was like being doused with cold water. "Say no more," pleaded Harry. He needed to get that image out of his head. "You said Burke? Of Borgin and Burkes?"

"A lesser member, but related to be sure," agreed Snape, traces of amusement playing around his lips. "We've not had a Burke in residence since then. But we were discussing drug use at Hogwarts or the lack thereof. I apologise for diverting our discourse, especially at this late hour. I am certain you have more important matters to attend to."

"No, not really," replied Harry as he pulled the Galleon out of his pocket again, murmured to it and tapped it with his wand. He returned it to his pocket without explanation. "But it does help my investigation to know that this is an isolated incident and not the tip of an unsuspected iceberg."

He leaned forward, his wide green eyes earnest. "I've nothing but respect for the work you're doing here and I know this has been devastating for you, both personally and professionally. So, to aid my investigation, why don't you talk me through your day? The more details you can provide, the better off we'll be." His eyes softened and were this anyone other than Snape, he would reach across to squeeze the man's hand. "I know you're a trained observer, even if you might be a bit out of practice, but try not to evaluate anything. It's much too early in the investigation to form any conclusions."

"My day? You wish to know about my day?" For a moment Snape appeared perplexed, but he gave a brief nod of his head and commenced speaking. "I arose shortly before six in the morning and engaged upon my usual morning constitutional—"

"You...what?" replied Harry, his head snapping up from his notes.

"I took a walk, Mr Potter," said Snape dryly. "As I do most mornings, unless the weather is utterly abysmal." He paused. "That means bad."

Harry's lip twitched as he attempted valiantly to give Snape a withering look. "I do know what 'abysmal' means. I even know what you meant by 'morning constitutional.' I just didn't know you ever got any exercise."

Snape let the opportunity to needle Harry pass by without comment. "I find it provides me with an opportunity to organise my thoughts. After returning to the castle and finishing my ablutions..." He allowed the phrase to hang suspended for a moment and Harry surrendered a wry grin. "I went up to the Great Hall for breakfast. I reviewed the day's plans with Filius and reminded several of the professors that they were expected to chaperon the day's visit to Hogsmeade."

"It was a Hogsmeade weekend?" said Harry, suddenly all business as he flipped frantically through his notes.

"Were you unaware of that fact?"

"I don't think anyone mentioned it until now." Harry came to his feet. "Excuse me for a moment." He pulled his two-way mirror from his pocket and tapped it with his wand. Ron's face appeared in it just seconds later. "Let the team know it was a Hogsmeade weekend. Find out if any of our vics purchased anything in the village."

"Will do." Ron paused and his blue eyes were grave. "The fifth year who was nearly ripped to pieces didn't make it," he said quietly. "I'm sorry."

Harry nodded tightly and sat back down. "You heard?"

Snape's eyes were closed and he gave a brief nod.

The words Harry was trained to say stuck in his throat. He felt Snape deserved better and he had no words of comfort to offer. "I apologise for the interruption," he said at last. "Please continue."

Snape examined Harry closely. "Very well. I stood in the Entrance Hall whilst the students began their exodus, after which I went to my laboratory in the dungeons to check on the status of some tests I'm conducting on a shipment of new ingredients indigenous to the Canary Islands.

"I worked for several hours, had lunch—again, in the Great Hall—and then came up here to commence brewing for both Madam Pomfrey and the Guild." His brow furrowed and his gaze turned inward as he formulated his report. "It was late afternoon when one of the house-elves appeared to inform me that there was trouble in the third floor corridor. I placed the potions under stasis and made my way down—"

"How much time elapsed, do you know?" interrupted Harry. "Even an estimate will be helpful."

"From the time the house-elf informed me of trouble until I reached the student...fifteen minutes at most. At that point, all I knew is that a fifth year student tangled with a suit of armour. Nothing in the house-elf's behaviour gave any indication that the situation was life-threatening." Snape took a swallow of tea and his fingers trembled as he lifted the cup to his lips.

"No sooner had I arrived there than Professor Vector sent word that Jenny Harrington had fallen from the Astronomy Tower. Word began to spread quickly, so we had the prefects escort the students to their common rooms, but by then we understood that we were embroiled in a crisis and we implemented one of our resolution plans.

"Poppy contacted St Mungo's and requested aid and Hilliard began brewing some standard antidotes. Bear in mind we'd no idea what we were dealing with. At first we thought the students had contracted some virulent strain of wizard's flu, but St Mungo's had no reports of widespread illness."

Harry scribbled notes onto his pad of parchment, felt his pendant heat again, and clutched it for a moment. He felt a flash of irritation and more than a little guilt, but knew Justin was simply worried about him. "If you can, please tell me in which order you learned of the situations. It might give us a starting point. Oh, and who is Hilliard?"

Snape's head tilted with curiosity, but when Harry said nothing, he explained. "Robert Hilliard is our Potions Professor. He is not a Master, but he is a gifted instructor," he replied. "I believe he was a Ravenclaw prefect when you started here. As for the order..." He listed them for Harry, starting with Roderic Farley's close encounter with a spiked flail wielded by one of the suits of armour and ending with Aeterna Lamont's self-immolation during pudding.

Bile rose in Harry's throat as Snape went through the litany of horrors. One student had tried to peel her skin off. Another had stabbed himself twenty times in the mistaken belief he was cursing his identical twin brother in some sort of Dark ritual. One of the students sent to St Mungo's had attempted to turn herself into a statue and fallen over, shattering the entire left side of her body. A sixth year had fancied himself a hippogriff and...and...the results didn't bear thinking about.

The desire to flee arose suddenly and Harry had to move. He launched himself from his chair and, agitated, paced through Snape's office like the lion that signified his House. He pulled the Galleon from his pocket and held it close to his lips. "It's bad, babe. Really bad." Message sent, he sat back down and reviewed his notes.

Snape said nothing, merely observed him with his fingertips pressed tightly together. Silence filled the office; not even the portraits were stirring. It was, surprisingly, a comfortable silence, unusual given their past history.

"May I have a sheet of parchment?" asked Harry in a hushed voice. He looked up when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Snape had moved from his desk and was standing at the window, staring out at the Black Lake.

"Centre drawer," he replied. "I invite you to use the desk. You will be more comfortable there. With your leave, I should like to consult with my Heads of House. Is there anything in particular I should or should not tell them?"

Surprised by Snape's offer, Harry nodded and moved to the working side of the desk. "The list of things we don't know is much longer than the list of things we do know," he said. "Please ask them to extend all courtesies to members of my team and that we sincerely apologise for the disruptions our investigation will cause. Ask them too if they would assist in the collection of items purchased in the village. We'll return everything once we're certain it won't cause anyone additional harm." He took off his spectacles and rubbed his eyes as a wave of exhaustion crashed through him. The night would be endless.

A warm hand with long fingers rested on his shoulder and Harry craned his head back to gaze into Snape's weary face. Harry had no idea how attractive he appeared at that moment, with parted red lips, a light dusting of pink across his cheeks, his green eyes soft and tender. Snape's impossibly dark eyes turned to smouldering pools and Harry's breath caught. He gave Snape a brief nod of understanding and a tremulous smile at the gentle squeeze.

"There is a suite of rooms and a common room in the South Tower," said Snape in tones of velvet. "I invite you—and your team—to make use of it as you see fit. It is well protected and there are three house-elves assigned to see to your every need."

"That will be lovely. Thank you." Harry's face took on a chagrined expression. "I owe you an apology, Headmaster. I expected a battle at every turn, but you've been nothing but supportive and gracious. You've made this much easier than it could have been and that will be noted in my reports."

"I want this solved as much as you do," replied Snape as he gave Harry another long, searching look. He gave Harry's shoulder another squeeze and headed towards the door, pausing before he stepped through. "If you've nothing further...?"

A small, abashed smile curved Harry's lips. "Erm...I'm not sure where the South Tower is." He braced himself automatically for a withering remark and was disgusted with himself for assuming the worst.

Snape gave a brief nod and then said, "Tremblee." A house-elf with Dumbo sized ears and a bulbous nose appeared without a sound.

"You called, sir?" it said in the highest, squeakiest voice Harry had ever heard.

Snape gave the creature a respectful bow. "You are now at Auror Potter's disposal. When he has finished here, please escort him," his eyes narrowed and the creature's impressive ears drooped, " _through the hallways_ to the South Tower. Have Neehai and Spourful serve the Aurors whilst they remain at the castle and until further notice."

"As Master Snape Sir wishes," squeaked Tremblee. "And Tremblee is—"

"Begging the Master's pardon. I know, Tremblee, and as I have stated before, you are forgiven when you follow my instructions." He gave the house-elf a stern look. "And there will be no more ironing of ears. Is that clear?"

The house-elf gave an aggrieved sigh. "When the Headmaster is having ears like poor—"

"Is? That? Clear?"

Harry gave an explosive cough as he fought to keep from laughing. No matter how hard Hermione worked to see to elfish welfare, the house-elves themselves were her most formidable obstacle. Harry remained convinced that the entire lot of them, with the possible exception of Dobby, were masochistic buggers at heart. "Tremblee," he said, his voice strangely thick with barely suppressed amusement, "I have ten people on my team. Will you see to it that they have somewhere to rest should they need to?"

The house-elf turned and his bright blue eyes filled with reverence. "Master Harry Potter Sir," it breathed in a voice that sounded like air escaping from a balloon. "Tremblee is honoured, Sir. Honoured. Tremblee will do everything Master Harry Potter Sir wishes." And it burst into tears.

Harry looked despairingly at Snape, and then the pendant burned hot against his skin. "I need to let my boyfriend know I'll be late."

"Boyfriend?" The temperature seemed to drop a few thousand degrees and Snape suddenly seemed as remote as an Uspeakable.

"Yes, boyfriend," replied Harry as his heart inexplicably plummeted to his toes. "The _Prophet_ has done a spectacular job of covering my private life so I thought you knew. 'Gay wizard Harry Potter was seen at a gay club with his boyfriend.' 'Gay Auror Harry Potter was spotted in Diagon Alley with his partner Wednesday night.' I was on patrol with Ron, but why be specific?" He bit back a sigh and had the grace to feel abashed. "I know I should have said something to you sooner. Will this be a problem? That I have a boyfriend?" Suddenly, Snape's answer mattered very much.

Snape turned away to face the portraits. "Of all the problems I might have with you, Potter, that is the least of them. But as you must know, I am hardly in the _Prophet_ 's good graces. I know nothing of your personal life and as someone who resents intrusions into mine I cannot fathom why you think I'd peer into yours."

"Thank you," said Harry simply. He should have felt relief that his private life wasn't going to become a bone of contention between them, but all he felt was a vague disappointment. "My life is not as exciting as most people seem to think it is." He turned to Tremblee. "If you could show me to the Tower now?"

Entrusted to the keeping of the house-elf, Harry was nearly through the office door when Snape spoke again. "Is there anything you would like me to do, or not do, that would aid you in your investigation?"

Harry came to a stop and paused in the doorway. "As a matter of fact there is." He turned to face the headmaster, but Snape's back was still toward him. "The only time I've ever seen a suit of armour move was during the Battle. Will you or Professor Flitwick check the enchantments on them? It may be nothing, but until we look into it, we'll never know."

ssHPss

It took nearly an hour to assemble the team after Tremblee escorted Harry to the South Tower and Harry used the time to organise a scheme that ensured their investigation missed nothing, though thoughts of Snape intruded more than they should have. In twos and threes the Aurors staggered in and firecalled their families to inform them they'd either be spending a few days there at Hogwarts or coming home soon.

The South Tower reminded Harry much of Gryffindor Tower, but rather than the scarlet and gold tones from his youth, this Tower was decorated in primary colours with touches of green here and there to ensure Slytherin House was represented. Unlike the Gryffindor common room, there was a dining area and a broad work table where they could gather and strategise, and a branching staircase led to suites that were far more comfortable than his old dormitory had been.

"Thanks, everybody," said Harry once they'd all had a chance to review the next day's assignments. "I'll see you all tomorrow morning at ten. The headmaster is going to ask the students to remain in the Great Hall after breakfast. Naomi will tell the students what we can and ask them for their help."

"Are you going home or staying here?" asked Meredith as she eyed the stairway to the bedrooms upstairs. The entire team appeared exhausted and Harry was already feeling the strain.

"I'm for home. The headmaster has opened this Floo to us, so feel free to come and go as you will. If you'd rather go home than stay here, by all means do so. There's no need for all of us to stay, though I would like someone here 'round the clock. If needs be, we'll set a rota tomorrow. The password for the Floo is 'Beazor'..." Ron coughed. "...and the address is Governors' Den, Hogwarts."

Harry watched as some of his team headed upstairs and others stepped through the Floo to their homes. "Are you staying or going?" he asked Ron once the common room had emptied.

"Do you reckon Snape would mind if Hermione came through?"

Harry shook his head. "He seems willing to do whatever needs to be done to see this through." He stared in the direction of the seventh floor and Snape's office. "He's been brilliant." A touch of awe entered his voice and he glanced over in time to see Ron eyeing him thoughtfully.

"Don't give me that look," said Harry. "I have a boyfriend."

"Who's a git," muttered Ron darkly.

"So is Snape, according to you anyway," Harry fired back, irritated. "Besides, you have horrible taste in men."

"One time, Harry. I set you up one time."

"That bloke was straighter than you are."

"My money is still on denial."

"Give it up," said Harry wearily. "I'm going home to Justin. Shall I leave you in charge for the..." He cast a quick Tempus and winced. It was coming on three AM. "Next six hours? I need some sleep."

The Floo roared and Hermione stepped through. Her eyes swept over him from head to toe before she exchanged some irritating couples' telepathy with Ron that always left him feeling as though he'd missed something. A curious little half-grin appeared and she shook her head with what might have been exasperation, but Harry wasn't certain. "Go home," she ordered. "We'll send for you should anything happen."

It was a pleasant fiction, but Harry nodded anyway. "I'll be back after breakfast." He tossed some Floo powder on the flames, called out an address and was swept away by emerald flames.

ssHPss

Harry stumbled through the Floo and nearly tripped over a curl in the hearth rug, so exhausted that the bags under his eyes nearly reached his knees. He staggered through the dark flat, the shadowy forms of furniture serving as a guide to the narrow hallway that led to his bedroom.

Discarding bits and bobs of his uniform on his trek through the house, he tiptoed through the door and moved as silently as a wraith into their bathroom to disrobe and freshen up before he slipped into bed. He needed to wash the thoughts of Snape out of his head before he went to sleep. It wouldn't do to dream.

Justin stirred the moment Harry's bottom touched the mattress and by the time Harry was between the sheets Justin was wrapped around him, clinging like a barnacle. "You've been gone all night," he murmured, his voice gravelly with sleep. "Wasn't certain you were coming home."

"Wasn't sure either," said Harry thickly. His eyelids were threatening to cut off his contact with the outside world and his bones were already dissolving as he melted into the mattress. He was too tired to yawn. "Need to sleep, babe. Love you." His head hit the mattress and he was out cold.

After five hours of uninterrupted sleep, Harry rousted himself from bed and yawned so broadly that he was in fear of dislocating his jaw. The bed was empty, no surprise. Justin was a morning person and Harry, having no set schedule, was either wide awake or fast asleep. There was very little middle ground.

He found Justin in their living room gnawing on the end of a quill with reports and ledgers spread out over every available surface. The _Sunday Prophet_ was folded neatly and set near Harry's end of the sofa, but other than that, it looked like Justin brought home work to keep himself occupied whilst Harry was investigating the latest front page catastrophe. "Hey, baby," said Harry with a soft smile. "What are you working on?"

Justin's head came up. "Harry!" A brilliant smile lit his face and he lifted his face to accept a kiss. "When did you get in? I was so worried about you and I didn't look at the time. All those messages and then the _Prophet_..." He gestured with his hand towards the paper. "You must be starving."

Harry grimaced. "The _Prophet_ has it already?" His job just became a lot harder, depending on which reporter penned the article. Most likely the Ministry would want a statement from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and Harry didn't know enough yet to be able to determine what he could tell them.

"It says the Governors will be convening a Board of Enquiry. They're demanding a liaison to assist with the investigation." Justin unfolded himself and rose from the sofa. "But enough of that. It's your day off, so let's fix up a scrumptious omelette and pick up from where we left off last night." He wrapped his arms around Harry and nuzzled his neck. "I'm so happy you're home. I missed you."

"I...I can't, sweetheart," said Harry as his heart clenched. "I have to get back to Hogwarts. I nearly decided to sleep there but I knew you'd wear yourself to a frazzle if I didn't come home."

"But you don't work again 'til Tuesday," complained Justin. "And I have your budget proposal nearly complete. I thought we could go through it together so I could explain it in Great Detail. That way you'd be prepared for anything Shacklebolt might toss your way."

Harry looped his arms around Justin's neck and kissed him softly. "I'm a detective now. I can't leave this for the others. You know I can't. And as much as I love having you explain in Great Detail," which inevitably led to explorations in great detail, then explicit instructions in great detail, "I have to go back."

"Can't Weasley do it?" Distress shone in Justin's eyes and worry lines furrowed his brow. "I'm just so afraid something horrible will happen to you up there. That Death Eater is still headmaster and you know how much he despised you. He just wants to get even, Harry. Robards should know this. He's risking your life for no good reason at all!"

"Who? Snape?" Harry unclasped his hands and took a step back to study his boyfriend. Though Justin's jaw was set in a hard line, dark circles ringed fretful blue eyes and Justin's well-coiffed hair was as messy as his own. "Sweetie, there's no need to get worked up over this. I'm perfectly safe at Hogwarts, especially with Snape watching my back."

"I reckon that's not all he's watching," muttered Justin with a jealous edge to his tone—a tone with which Harry was all too familiar. "He's a perverted old sod who fancies a bit of rough now and again. Likes 'em young, too."

"He is _nothing_ like that. Besides, if he was watching more than just my back, don't you think I'd notice?" Harry cringed inwardly as the lie spilled easily from his lips. Some weird alchemy was brewing between him and Snape; he'd have to be dead not to notice.

The atmosphere became icy and Justin's lips tightened. "You'd notice. You're not dead, Harry, just involved with someone—me." He gathered up his charts and graphs and shoved them into a folder. "It appears I need not waste my time with this rot." He hurled himself onto the sofa and crossed his arms as he glowered.

Like Harry, Justin had a quick temper, but it flashed quickly and burned brightly, and then it was done. Harry waited a moment before walking over to the couch and kneeling between Justin's parted legs. "Ron won't mind if I'm a few minutes late," he murmured as he rested his hands on Justin's knees. He slid his palms up Justin's thighs before looking up through his fringe. "Or I could go to work now..."

The look Justin gave him was contemptuous. "Go to work, Harry."

ssHPss

"Really, mate. I don't need to know why you were late. You're here now so we can debrief." Ron scowled as he marched into the Tower's lounge with Harry a step or two behind him. Harry paused at the doorway to say hello to Hermione and winked at her. The lie rankled, but he'd rather let Ron think what he would than admit to trouble in Paradise.

"You'd think he lives like a monk the way he carries on," grinned Hermione. "Let me know if you can meet up at the Three Broomsticks for lunch. Otherwise, I'm back to London."

"One of us will message you," Harry assured her. "Cheers." He stepped past Ron to fill a cup with black coffee before taking a seat at the table. Zoe, his team's Potions specialist, was Transfiguring part of the wall to a chalkboard whilst Liam Winter was laying out pads of paper and setting out biros for everyone to use.

"What do we know?" As Harry expected, Meredith led the discussion.

"Of our seventeen victims, ten are boys and seven girls. Their ages range from thirteen to seventeen. They're distributed amongst all four Houses: five Gryffindors and four from the other three Houses. Of the seventeen, eleven of them went into Hogsmeade and the others remained at the castle. Interestingly enough, none of our victims are first or second years. I don't know if that's significant.

"With the house-elves assistance, we've managed to collect nearly everything purchased from the village. It's all labelled and sorted so we'll be able to return it to their owners when we've finished our investigation." She looked up from her notes and met Harry's gaze. "It appears that Banshee made it up to Hogsmeade, but we don't know how it found its way into the castle. Or why."

Harry nodded. "Snape and I thought the same thing."

"We're waiting for confirmation from St Mungo's," said Abbie, "but it matches what we've seen in the south."

Ron leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. "The randomness bothers me. I spoke for some time with Marie Calhoun. She's Head Girl. Hufflepuff. Aeterna Lamont, the girl who set herself on fire, was her best friend. She said they stayed at the castle to work on their Potions project."

"Potions project?" Harry sat up and focussed intently on Ron. "Did she go into any detail about it?"

Ron snorted. "It was like speaking with Hermione when she's on about something. They're working on an enhancement to Pensieve solution. She showed me her notes and lists of ingredients they've tried, none of which are a part of Banshee. They've been working with Professor Hilliard and Snape for a couple of months now. There's a Ravenclaw and a Slytherin in the study group as well, but they're both fine. Lamont is the only one of that bunch affected.

"She knows just about everyone in the castle, knows who usually goes into Hogsmeade and who doesn't. She knows who's at odds and who isn't. She knows everyone who has dated, when they broke up, and in most cases, why." For a moment, Ron appeared perplexed. "I've no idea how she keeps track of all that."

"I was able to confirm almost everything Ron got from Ms Calhoun," said Maxine. "The only detail I've not managed to corroborate is whether Joseph Fitzgibbons purchased anything at Honeydukes. His mate says not, but he brought a Honeydukes bag into his common room. He's the one who fancied himself a hippogriff."

"Which House?" asked Zoe.

Maxine checked her notes. "Fitzgibbons is in Slytherin. Adam Nicholas is Ravenclaw."

"Nicholas is Fitzgibbons' friend?"

Maxine nodded. "They're both half-bloods and their mums were best friends all through school. They've known each other their whole lives. Nicholas is absolutely gutted."

"All of the upper forms know someone affected. So do most of the lower forms," added Abbie. "The first-years are terrified. The second-years are hiding it better."

"Not surprising," said Harry. "Let's go back to Ron's statement. What's bothering you specifically?"

"It cuts across all the Houses and most of the years. Some of them went to Hogsmeade, some of them didn't. So what do they have in common?"

"Banshee is a powder," reminded Meredith. "Most of the users we've managed to take into custody have inhaled it."

"The ones who've survived," muttered Winston darkly.

"Precisely," agreed Harry. "Have you come across any the usual paraphernalia?"

"What's to say they're not using transfigured items?" asked Liam. "It's not particularly difficult to transfigure a quill into a straw."

"There's no sign of it in any of the dormitories or common rooms," Naomi pointed out. "No signs of magic that can't be accounted for." She yawned broadly. "We were on hands and knees until nearly five this morning. We couldn't find a grain of it anywhere—and that was with the help of nearly a hundred house-elves."

Harry scowled. "What about—"

The door burst open and Snape flew in, his dark robes billowing around him. "It's happening again. The Black Lake." He turned swiftly and exited, his long strides covering a remarkable distance. Harry and his team scrambled to their feet and rushed the doorway, pushing their way through to follow in Snape's wake.

Minutes later, they were gathered at shore of the Black Lake. The surface churned and frothed and a long tentacle slapped the surface, sending a geyser of water shooting into the air. A handful of panicked students stood hip-deep in the frigid lake and were shouting and gesticulating wildly. Harry nearly missed seeing the heads of several merpeople peeking out above the waves, but two of them swam forward and deposited the pale body of a young girl into the students' waiting arms.

The water was freezing, but Harry and Snape, acting in unspoken accord, splashed forward. The girl was naked, her pallid flesh nearly blue and Harry felt for a pulse as Snape took her in his arms.

Harry gave a sharp nod. "Faint, but it's there." He heard his name over the frightened wails of the other students and his head snapped around to see who had shouted. A Healer was running full tilt towards the throng assembled at the shore, her bright green robes fluttering wildly in the wind. Beside her, Ron was easily keeping pace, his long legs gobbling up a metre with each stride.

"I went to the Hospital Wing," he panted as he cast a charm to dry Harry's and Snape's dripping robes. "I thought we could use the help."

"You thought right." Harry helped Snape remove his cloak and spread it on the ground. He cast a mild Cushioning Charm and helped the headmaster lay the girl down so the Healer could see to her. When he came to his feet, Ron was unusually contemplative.

"Later," whispered Harry as he approached the group of crying girls who were pressing as close to the Healer as they dared. He observed them for a moment, and then caught the attention of the girl in the centre. "I'm Harry Potter," he said quietly, but there was no mistaking the authority in his voice. "What's your name?"

"Jeanne," she quavered. "Jeanne DeLany. That's Ellie. Eleanor Becker." She pointed at the girl the Healer was working on and tears started running down her cheeks. "We tried to stop her, but...but she said she was a...a mermaid and had to go...go home," she sobbed. "She tore up her...her robes and we grabbed her, but we couldn't hold on." She gave Harry a bewildered look. "She's just a wee thing, but she nearly broke my arm."

Frowning, Harry pushed back her sleeve to reveal dark bruises and deep scratches. He pulled his wand and cast one of the standard rudimentary healing charms he learnt at the academy. Jeanne's bruises faded a bit and the torn flesh knitted back together. "You should have Madam Pomfrey take a look at that. She's much better at this than I am." He gave her a reassuring smile. "And afterwards, we'll sit down and talk for a bit, alright?"

Jeanne nodded and sniffled. "Will Ellie be okay?"

If there was an upside to Banshee, it was that there were no long-term side effects to it. Other than that, there was nothing redeemable about it. "She should be, but she's going to be very sick for awhile. The Black Lake did her no favours."

"Why did she think she's a mermaid? She doesn't even like them."

"Do you want to talk about it now?" Harry watched as the Healer levitated Eleanor's unconscious body to move it to the Hospital Wing. Snape removed his outer robes and draped them over the girl, affording her some measure of dignity and Harry found himself admiring the long, lean lines of Snape's body. He gave himself a hard mental shake and turned his attention back to Jeanne.

The other three girls huddled around Jeanne and they exchanged hugs and whispered amongst themselves for a moment. Harry recognised it as a tactic to avoid getting themselves in trouble. He'd employed it a time or two himself with Ron and Hermione when they were students here. Since they didn't know what happened to Ellie, they weren't certain which version of the truth would keep them out of detention. "You do realise I can't take House points, right?" he reminded them.

Jeanne and one of the other girls flushed and her eyes shifted away. "Ellie, Morgan and I had some chocolate frogs after breakfast. Sydney didn't and neither did Ruthie."

"Who bought the chocolate frogs and when?" It was Abbie's voice, warm and soothing, promising that there would be no trouble for any of them for answering honestly. The oldest member of their team, Abbie was the person in whom Harry confided when his current case began to trouble him, which was nearly every single time.

Jeanne stared at her feet. "Morgan and—"

"Hush," hissed one of the girls, and Harry assumed it must be Morgan.

"Go on, Jeanne. No House points, remember?" Harry reminded them.

"We bought them yesterday and hid them from the House-elves." She looked up defiantly. "We didn't see why they should steal our chocolate. We paid for it with our own money and it's not like we'd get it back." Her brown eyes began to swim with tears and she stared up at the castle for a minute.

"How on earth did you manage to hide them?" asked Abbie in something approaching amazement.

Jeanne and Morgan exchanged a speaking glance. "Well, it's not as hard as you'd think," said Jeanne cautiously. "We hid a couple of Canary Crèmes inside an old Skiving Snackbox and put some concealing charms on it. Once they found the box, they ignored the stuff wrapped in our socks."

Harry beckoned Meredith over. "Find out who of our victims had chocolate frogs yesterday," he murmured. "And ask the headmaster for another sweep of the dormitories. We're looking for any Honeydukes products that we missed the first time."

ssHPss

By the end of the week, every chocolate frog in Great Britain had been pulled from shops and sent to the Ministry for examination. Another twenty-four frogs were found to be contaminated with Banshee, but the ban hadn't occurred soon enough to save half a dozen witches and wizards from killing themselves with their own delusions. The worst of them had been a three year-old boy who tried to stop a moving lorry with his super-hero strength, but was run over instead.

Harry and his team worked steadily backwards, from Honeydukes in Hogsmeade to the wizarding section of Cadbury Chocolates where the chocolate frogs were made. They spoke with hundreds of people, read through thousands of files, tracked every single purchase they could, and by the end of April, they had come to the end of the trail. Harry had no suspects, but he knew more about chocolate frogs than he ever wanted to know.

Every Sunday, he travelled up to Hogsmeade to have dinner with Snape in the Great Hall. They reviewed together Harry's notes and Snape suggested possible theories that Harry had come up with on his own. This, more than his promotion, thrilled him and Harry began to believe that he truly did have the makings of a good Auror.

Then there was the mystifying camaraderie that was developing between them. Harry found that he spent the week looking forward to his Sunday supper at Hogwarts and the pleasant hours of conversation with Severus. The only dark spot to those evenings was the frequency with which Justin contacted him during those interludes.

That Justin had a jealous streak was not a secret, but Harry attributed it to Justin's rampant insecurity and did his best to counter it by being attentive and considerate. He brought Justin small gifts when the spirit moved him, and since he was travelling all over Great Britain the spirit moved often. He always let Justin know where he was and when to expect him home and was (usually) prompt at sending messages through their charmed Galleons. But every once in awhile, Harry craved breathing space.

It was on his seventh Sunday that Snape deviated from their routine. "Won't they miss you down in the Great Hall?" asked Harry as he was ushered into a charming dining area on the second level of the Headmaster's tower.

"And how many times did Albus miss a meal? Did the world end?" asked Snape as he gestured broadly with his hand. He waited until Harry chose a seat and took the chair opposite him. He removed the snowy serviette from the place setting and spread it across his lap.

"Only during fifth year," said Harry. His eyes darted all over the room, taking in the dusty rose coloured flocked wallpaper, heavy silver tableware and antique furniture, none of which struck him as being particularly Snape-like. Flames danced merrily from mirrored wall sconces, casting flickering shadows across the table and had there been a floral arrangement Harry would have thought he was on a dinner date arranged by the Grand Inquisitor herself. Fortunately for his peace of mind, the paintings on the walls were still-lifes and not frolicking kittens. He met Snape's puzzled gaze and knew at once his disquiet had been evident. "Umbridge."

A visible shudder passed through Snape. "Do me a favour and do not utter that harridan's name ever again."

Harry's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "And how do you refer to her?"

"I don't, but in those rare cases where it becomes unavoidable I mutter something about Bane and centaurs and arch my brow just enough so even the thickest cretin can draw the correct conclusion."

For a moment Harry was shocked, then he threw his head back and howled with laughter. "In the hospital wing Ron would make clip-clop noises with his tongue, like horse hooves, just to watch her panic." His expression sobered. "It was probably the only amusing part of that entire debacle."

"You acquitted yourself admirably that night, Harry," said Snape as their wineglasses were filled with ruby-red wine. Platters of food appeared on the table: rare roast beef, creamy mashed potatoes, haricots verts with slivered almonds, a boat of thick brown gravy, a basket of warm rolls. "I regret—"

"No," said Harry softly as a thin slice of meat dangled from the serving fork. "It's been more than a dozen years and I know you did everything you could to keep that night from becoming an unmitigated disaster. It could have been so much worse, but once again, you saved us all."

Colour rose in Snape's cheeks. "Yes, well, I assure you it was not my intention to haul your arse out of the fire. I merely sought to keep Dumbledore apprised of the situation and pass word to the Order that you'd managed to embroil yourself in trouble up to your neck yet again."

"Of course," murmured Harry as he hid his amusement behind a sip of wine. Butterflies fluttered in his belly and slow warmth spread through him at seeing mutual regard shine in the depths of Snape's eyes. Their eyes met and the moment stretched out between them until Harry's pendant heated against his skin.

Frowning, he pulled the Galleon from his pocket. "I told you I'd be late. I'm eating now," he said and tapped it with his wand. Scowling, he shoved the coin back in his pocket and resumed filling his plate with food whilst Snape looked on with undisguised interest.

"Protean charm," explained Harry. "It's also how we avoided Umbridge and arranged our Defence lessons that same year, curiously enough, but Justin and I use it to communicate when I'm out in the field. We tried using charmed mirrors, but I kept getting them mixed up and Ron hasn't developed an appreciation for the sorts of messages I exchange with my boyfriend."

"I should think not." Snape shuddered slightly and then began to cut his meat with precise strokes into bite-sized squares. "Were I the fortunate Mr Finch-Fletchley, I would not be pleased to discover my tête-à-têtes were being overheard by others." Snape regarded him with some curiosity. "How did you and Mr Finch-Fletchley ever become a couple? I will admit that I did not know him well, but what I do remember of him doesn't seem to suit your personality."

The Harry of old would have flown into a rage. This Harry had heard the same thing from nearly everyone he knew, so he responded with an automatic long-suffering sigh. "We knew each other here, of course...No! Not like that," he added hastily when Snape's eyebrows nearly shot to the ceiling. "I mean I met Justin for the first time as a first-year, but it wasn't until my fourth year as an Auror that we became re-acquainted.

"He works in the Treasury Department of the Ministry and he's the liaison with Gringotts and the Muggle Stock Exchange. A couple of years ago, Robards asked for an increase in our budget and the Ministry sent Justin over to look at our books."

Snape's brow furrowed and it was apparent he was trying to work out the math in his head. "So you've been together for six years?"

Harry chuckled. "Nowhere near that long. We've been living together for, hmm, almost a year and a half now. We both had a few mistakes yet to make before we started going out. And Justin still needed to come out to his family. That's not gone particularly well."

"Oh?" Snape gave Harry a dubious look as he topped off their wine glasses. "I was under the impression that the Muggles embraced our deviance now, throwing parades in our honour and waving their rainbow-coloured flags."

Harry snorted. "Not all Muggles are like Hermione. Some of them are more like my aunt and uncle. Justin's family certainly is." He sliced more of his beef into bite-sized pieces and lifted one to his mouth. "They're landed and titled and all that rot, so succession is important to them." Harry snorted. "Justin threw their scheme awry."

"He's the first son, I take it?"

"Only son, but he has two sisters, both younger. Justin won't step aside, though, and his father is none too pleased. He and Justin's mum both think Justin needs to try harder to be 'normal', but that's not on." Harry stared at his plate for a moment. "Well, it might be if I weren't around."

Justin had explained it once, that their lands and titles were the result of a royal decree a few centuries ago, so succession was by royal grant though it was just a formality at this point. But no Marquis of Camerleigh had been bent and his Lordship was determined that Justin not ruin their unbroken line by virtue of his sexuality. Harry thought it was all a load of rubbish, but as a mere commoner, he wasn't expected to understand.

"Explain," ordered Snape.

"I won't date anybody who's closeted. I've no secret lovers stashed away under Fidelius. No clandestine rendezvous. No straight men experimenting to make certain they don't have a hidden bi side." Harry had learnt that lesson the hard way. "It's the one sticking point between us. Justin's not comfortable with being gay so he'd rather avoid public displays of affection."

Snape stabbed a piece of meat with more viciousness than Harry thought warranted. "Then he's changed quite a lot since he finished school."

Harry's expression hardened and his eyes became chips of green ice. "That's a bit rich, considering. I know he was little more than a plaything for Slytherin House during his seventh year; your first year as headmaster," he added savagely.

Snape set down his fork and knife and picked up his wineglass to take a deliberate sip. "I heard him boasting of his conquests with my own ears. And he was quite territorial as well."

"That might have been intentional," Harry countered. "I don't know what happened that year, but I do know Justin came out of Hogwarts afraid of his own shadow. He doesn't speak of that time." Some of his outrage evaporated and he slumped back in his chair. "In truth, none of us do." He arched a brow and met Snape's hard gaze. "But you'll be best pleased to know Ron shares your opinion of Justin. So does Ginny."

To Harry's surprise, Snape appeared concerned. "I am not pleased to hear that. The person you partner with should fit as well into your life as you do into his. From what I have heard, this has not happened in either direction. It is cause for concern."

"We're fine," gritted Harry. "And frankly, it's none of your business."

For some reason, Snape's eyes gleamed. "On the contrary, I'm afraid it's very much my business. Like your friends, I intend to see you happy and from where I'm sitting that seems unlikely in the long run."

"Why doesn't anyone believe I'm happy? Do I look miserable? Justin loves me."

"Mr Finch-Fletchley possesses you and he does not like to share his things. He has contacted you at least four times since we sat down to our meal even though he is aware you are not in the field. He makes no effort to woo the Weasleys, instead preferring to ignore them when in their presence. His year-mates have little use for him and he has maintained few ties from his adolescence. He is a danger to you, though you do not see it.

"But come, let us not spend our meal sparring over your abysmal taste in boyfriends. Tell me instead about your investigation. Is it still stalled?"

Harry willed away his anger through sheer determination. "We've just finished the background checks of the people who make the wizard cards that go into each box. There are two people whose Potions NEWT scores seem to indicate they can make Banshee without any difficulties."

"Are you looking at their criminal histories?"

"We're looking at everything. Scotland Yard thinks we should be looking for someone in his early twenties with a history of drug abuse and some minor criminal infractions. Naomi believes it will be someone older who is carrying a grudge against someone in the supply chain. We have a hundred theories and no suspects. Now that chocolate frogs are back in the shops, I'm hoping it's not going to happen again."

"They've taken precautions though, yes?"

As they began to discuss the case, Harry started to relax. He truly enjoyed bouncing ideas off Snape and more than once the headmaster said something that sparked an interesting thought. "It's possible," said Snape, "that we've a sociopath on our hands."

"What do you mean?"

"Consider this: an individual purchases a case or two of chocolate frogs. It's not an impossibility; one merely needs to know how to contact a supplier. They pollute the frogs with Banshee, then carry them into a shop and set the doctored product on display with the others. The purchases have been random. The frogs have appeared all over the country."

"But concentrated here."

"Only because Honeydukes sells so many. You said they purchased upwards of thirty cases a month. It would be no hard task to carry in a case of them and add them to the barrel on the display floor. No one looks for product coming into the shop, only for the product leaving."

Harry sopped up the rest of his gravy with a roll and chewed slowly whilst he thought. "We've always thought it was deliberate, but we've focussed on the employees at Cadbury, Suleiman's Magic Shipping, Destiny's Wizarding cards, and Honeydukes itself. We've not thought to look outside." He raked his fingers through his hair. "Our task just became incomparably harder."

ssHPss

"Where are you going?" asked Justin as he came out of the bedroom, a quill tucked haphazardly behind his ear. "I thought you were home for the rest of the night."

"I thought so, too," replied Harry with a sigh, "but I've got to go back to Hogsmeade. The wizard at Honeydukes said he's heard noises in the cellar and when they went down to investigate, someone Stunned them and turned a few boxes over on top of them."

"Are you going to see him again?" demanded Justin, his face growing florid as his anger grew. At seeing the confusion on Harry's face, he adopted a more conciliatory tone. "You're never here, Harry, and it's lonely without you. I miss you."

"It's nearly at an end," said Harry as he extended his hand to pull Justin close. An end to the investigation. An end to his pleasant interludes with Snape. Guilt gnawed his stomach to shreds. Justin remained aloof. "When it's done, we'll have ourselves a holiday, just the two of us."

"When will that be? Once you've arrested this miscreant and testified before the Wizengamot, seen to his assignment in Azkaban and ensure he's not suffering unduly from his punishment?" Justin fixed him with a hard stare. "I'm tired of it all. This case is consuming you and leaving nothing for me."

"All the more reason for a holiday, and sooner rather than later. But I do have to go." Harry approached to give Justin a kiss goodbye. He rested his palm against Justin's cheek and gazed into icy blue eyes. "I'm sorry, love. I truly am." He leaned in for a kiss and closed his eyes.

In that brief second before their lips met, Harry felt a searing pain in between his shoulder blades and he cried out, instinctively twisting away.

"I told you I'm tired of it all," said Justin in an eerie, flat voice and he stabbed downward brutally, thrusting a knife that seemed to come out of nowhere deep into Harry's chest. "I'm tired of _him_." He yanked hard and the blade came up, casting off blood that sprayed above him and he plunged the blade in again.

Harry screamed and stumbled backwards as the knife penetrated the hollow above his collarbone, and he raised his hand to protect himself. The wounds blazed with searing heat and crimson blood poured in rivers down his chest. He felt it running over him, hot and sticky, and he stared at his blood-soaked hand in horror.

The knife flashed again and he gasped as white-hot fire tore through his arm, the edge of the blade slicing through muscle and sinew from wrist to elbow. He could see bone. "Justin! No!" Clutching his wounded arm to his flayed chest, he dropped onto his knees and tried to wriggle under the table to escape the slaughter, but the blade struck again, sliding along his ribs and opening a huge flap of skin before coming to rest in the small of his back. He arched his back and tried to scream.

Paralysing pain momentarily froze him in place and the smell of copper filled Harry's nostrils. He reached out with one hand to grasp Justin's ankle but his strength was failing and he missed. His vision was greying out at the edges and he tried to curl into a ball. _Why, Justin? Why?_ Barely able to comprehend what was happening, Harry gurgled out a groan as Justin twisted the dagger as he pulled it back out.

The fireplace popped and crackled as the flames turned green. "Harry?" It was Ron, but Harry couldn't lift his head to answer the call. He heard rather than felt the blow that skewered him to the floor and the last sound ringing in his ears was Justin's shocked voice. "I think I've killed him."

The world went black.

ssHPss

There were flashes of blue and crimson and dandelion spell light. Strident voices clashed over his head like cymbals and suddenly his mouth was filled with the taste of dirty socks. He choked and coughed once, and there was crushing pain in his chest. He closed his eyes and collapsed into the bed.

The next thing he knew, a droning sound tried to drill a hole straight through his skull. He moaned and tried to lift his head, but it weighed a thousand pounds and the best he could do was let it roll to the side. A cold hand lifted his head and pried his mouth open enough to pour in something thick and musty. He gagged and swallowed and gagged again as he fought to open his eyes. Light blinded him and he shut them again just as the world faded away again.

If time passed, Harry wasn't aware of it. Every once in awhile, words swam by like silver trout in a shiny stream, but he couldn't catch their meaning before they wiggled away, their scales winking like sunlight dancing on the water. Something cool and sweet passed over his lips and he swallowed greedily before sinking back into encompassing warmth.

He slept.

"You needn't stay, sir," said a soft voice Harry recognised. His eyelids fluttered open and he had an impression of patches of night against a brilliant white sky and he wondered who had papered over the sun. "Can't be late," he slurred, his voice sifted through gravel. But he couldn't keep his eyes open and he fell back into slumber.

He dreamed of a meadow ringed with trees. In the centre, out of the shade, stood a long stone table. A knife, wickedly sharp with a long blade, spun slowly on its axis. Harry approached and stared at it as the blade turned dark with blood. He touched it and it rang loudly, like a gong, and the sound decayed slowly. A cloud of birds rose from the treetops in a rush of wings and wheeled together to swoop down towards his head.

The birds assembled themselves into Severus Snape and he stared at Harry from the head of the table. "It is time for your Blood Replenishment," he intoned and Summoned the knife from the centre of the table. He sliced an orange in half, picked up the pieces and squeezed. Blood, thick and coppery, poured from the fruit and over the sides of the table. Flowers sprang from the ground, their stems coiling over Harry's legs and wrapping themselves so tightly around his trunk that he couldn't draw breath. He opened his mouth to scream, but the vines filled his throat.

Glass shattered against the wall. The sky ripped open. A shrill, piercing shriek filled Harry's head as he gasped for breath. Fluid, thick and viscous, filled his mouth and then disappeared. A sharp blow landed between his shoulder blades and he screamed in terror.

"Harry!" Hermione sobbed his name again and he drew a ragged breath as his heart hammered in his chest. He blinked wetly, seeing little in the shadows, but he was absolutely certain that Ron and Hermione were with him.

"Blimey, mate," breathed Ron. "Scared us to death, you did. Merlin, I thought you were dead—or close to."

"Not dead," whispered Harry, unable to speak for the moment. "Not dead." He struggled to sit up, but gave it up as a lost cause.

Someone elevated the head of his bed and Harry was able to breathe easier. A phial was held to his lips and he drank automatically whilst he conducted a mental inventory of his limbs. Although most of them didn't appear to be functional at the moment, all were present and accounted for. "What was that?" he said hoarsely.

"It was a pain reliever, though one formulated to avoid soporific effects," intoned a familiar voice and Harry tried to make his eyes focus enough to confirm that the speaker was Snape. "Auror Weasley, acting in his official capacity, has some questions for you. Your friends and I want only to know how you're feeling."

Harry waded through Snape's thicket of words and snagged the important bits. "Mmm. My back hurts and my arm feels...heavy." He stared down at his right hand and tried to wiggle his fingers. His middle finger twitched and his thumb moved a little, but it took a lot of effort to accomplish that much. "What happened?" He swallowed and licked his lips, feeling parched.

A heavy silence filled the room and Harry squinted and tried to read their faces. "What do you remember?" asked Ron after the quiet grew oppressive.

"I'll let everyone know he's awake," said Hermione in a low voice. She bent and brushed a kiss on Harry's cheek. "Try to rest."

"Am I supposed to rest or answer questions?" asked Harry in a throaty voice. The pain in his back started to fade and he felt some of the tension ebb away, only to be replaced by a low thrum of anxiety. Something was terribly wrong. He tried to give Hermione a reassuring smile, but it came out as a grimace.

"Please inform Healer Caldwell that Mr Potter is conscious," said Snape from his position next to the head of Harry's bed. "And then inform your family. They may visit with the Healer's and Harry's permission."

Harry braced for Ron's explosion, but to his surprise, it didn't come. In its own way, that was more alarming. Perhaps Hermione would assert their authority in Ron's stead, but he heard her agree with Snape instead. "Tell the Healer I'd like Justin to be here. I know he's not officially family, but he's..."

"Harry...."

Something in the way Ron said his name sent shivers of fear racing through him.

"Justin's dead. I'm sorry, mate. I know what he meant to you."

Grief slammed into Harry like a runaway Hogwarts Express. A lump the size of a Bludger filled his throat and his eye filled with hot tears that streamed in rivers from the corners of his eyes. He felt empty, hollow. Why did everyone he ever loved leave him? Was this then his fate? To know the very pinnacles of happiness only to be plunged into the depths of despair? He found himself wishing desperately that he'd boarded the train in that ghostly King's Cross Station and left life for somewhere much less painful.

"I'd like to be alone, please," he whispered thickly, keeping his eyes closed against their pity. He couldn't deal with it right now.

Ron and Hermione murmured their sympathies and left, but Snape remained where he was. "I think not, Harry," he said quietly. "When Lily was murdered, I was consumed by guilt. All the things I could have done differently lodged in my head and refused to leave. If I'd never spoken to her as a child. If I'd not been Sorted into Slytherin. If I'd not made an enemy of your father and your godfather. If I'd lost my temper and used an unforgiveable epithet against her. If I'd not overheard Sybill's prophecy. If I'd not conveyed that information to the Dark Lord. If I'd tried to warn them about Pettigrew.

"For years I accepted responsibility for her death—and the death of your father—though I'd never set foot in Godric's Hollow. It was not my wand that cast the Killing Curse. It was not my betrayal that caused their deaths, but it twisted me into an angry and bitter man. I carried that hatred for years, until a young man of fifteen who loathed me with the same passion I loathed him showed me that his life was not filled with sunshine and roses. Until a scheming Headmaster whom I'd grown to care for taught me the meaning of true sacrifice.

"Love, Harry, is truly all we have to live for. You found love, and I will never denigrate what you felt for your partner. It is not for me to say whether he deserved it or not. You loved him and that is enough. Grieve, Harry, but don't lose yourself along the way." Snape paused. "But if you do, trust that I will find you and lead you out."

Wracking sobs tore at Harry's throat and he wept until he ran out of tears. He was barely conscious of Snape's hand moving steadily through his hair, but discovered when he emerged on the far side of his storm of mourning that he was being held in strong arms that comforted him without expecting anything in return.

"I may have ruined your robes," he said in a gravelly voice. He sniffled and rubbed at eyes that felt swollen and gritty. He ached from head to toe and though his soul felt heavy, he no longer felt quite so alone.

"They're robes. Easily replaceable, unlike you."

More tears worked their way out of Harry's eyes and he whispered, "I'm thirsty."

Snape filled a glass with water, added a straw and held it to Harry's lips. "It's undoctored," he said. "As cruel as it may sound, you need to feel right now. You cannot begin to heal if you don't know how badly you've been hurt."

It made sense to Harry in a peculiar sort of way. He drank, draining the glass, but refusing more. "Why are you being so kind to me?"

There was a pause and Snape busied himself by settling Harry into his bed, straightening his covers and plumping his pillows. "If you need ask the question, then it is not time for the answer," he said finally.

As usual, Harry had no idea what Snape was talking about but he was too tired and too heartsick to work it out. "What do you know about Justin?" he asked instead of pursuing his original question.

"Very little. Ron contacted me once you had been stabilised to inform me that you were here. He thought it best that I come immediately. I complied and have been here ever since. That was four days ago."

Harry cracked a red-rimmed eye and wished he had his glasses in a world suddenly gone topsy-turvy. Justin was dead. Snape was kind. Ron was on Snape's side. "By any chance, did I hit my head? I thought you said 'Ron'."

"I did. He and Hermione wished me to use their given names. Likewise, I have requested they use mine." There was a knock at the door and Snape suddenly became formidable. Harry found himself turning towards the headmaster, needing the sense of safety Snape afforded him.

The Healer who stepped through the door was one Harry didn't recognise, though the movements of her wand were all too familiar. He bore her examination stoically, his eyes fixed forward to stare a ceiling that looked to him like low-hanging clouds. It seemed to take forever before she finished, but once she finished her incantations he turned green eyes upon her. "Tell me what happened," he commanded in a rough voice. Beside him, Snape sighed.

Healer Caldwell was not one to be messed about with. "I am not an Auror, Mr Potter," she said, not unkindly. "I do not know what happened. What I do know is the result of what occurred. You have extensive nerve damage to your right arm and lower back. Your liver was lacerated and you lost a great deal of blood. The potions we spelled into you have helped with that, but there is likely to be a small loss in cognitive function and your short term memory may be slightly impaired. We expect it will return in time.

"I will not sugar-coat this for you," Caldwell continued. "You were gravely injured. Technically, you died twice."

"Again?" Harry rolled his eyes. It made him dizzy. It seemed like he was fated to live with his toes right up against the line of mortality and he was heartily sick of it.

"Please forgive him his impudence," interjected Snape. "He has had a very trying afternoon." He stroked Harry's cheek, a gesture that seemed both intimate and comforting. Harry tried to disguise the sudden onset of tears by yawning, hoping the moisture would be seen as a sign of exhaustion.

"May he have visitors? I know his family is rather desperate to see him."

"Well..." Caldwell's lips tightened and her eyes narrowed in thought. "Perhaps one at a time. Two at the very most."

"No, please?" pleaded Harry in a whisper. "I'm not ready to see them yet. I know they mean well, but..."

"Shh." Snape's hand moved back into Harry's hair, a steadying influence and Harry leant into his touch. "You need not be awake. It will be enough for them to know you will recover." Snape moved close enough that Harry could see him clearly without squinting. "Trust me."

An understanding passed between Caldwell and Snape. "A Sleeping Draught is the best thing for him," she replied. "Mr Potter requires rest, and plenty of it. His recovery will be a slow, painful, arduous process; one without shortcuts. Magic will be of little use to him, I'm afraid. He will need to do this on his own."

"I believe," said Snape evenly, "you will be pleasantly surprised, Healer Caldwell." He was handed a phial of potion, which he cracked open immediately, pronounced it passable, and poured it down Harry's throat with more glee than Harry thought acceptable.

ssHPss

Harry woke to an argument being conducted in heated whispers. Feigning sleep, he tried to work out what was under discussion and where the battle lines were being drawn.

"But Harry won't be minding Rose. And he won't be alone. Kreacher is there."

"A house-elf is no substitute for a person, Hermione dear," Molly hissed back. "The Burrow is the best place for him. He won't need to lift a finger."

"Harry needs peace and quiet. I know you mean well, Molly, but you've other responsibilities as well. You can't drop everything to take care of him."

"I'm well used to taking care of a houseful of people." Harry could well imagine the tight, polite smile Molly was giving Hermione. He'd been the recipient of it a time or two himself. "Harry needs his family right now."

"Of course he needs his family," whispered Hermione heatedly. "But he's just lost his boyfriend—"

"—the one who tried to kill him? Honestly, I—"

Harry's eyes snapped open and his blood ran cold. "What?" he croaked as he struggled to sit up, but a strong hand held him down. "What do you mean 'tried to kill me'?"

Molly and Hermione both appeared stricken and a guilty flush painted Molly's cheeks red. "Oh, Harry. I didn't realise you're awake. Pay it no mind, dear. A slip of the tongue." But she wouldn't meet his eyes so Harry turned to Hermione for answers.

"You know I can't say anything until after you've been questioned," she said miserably. Her brown eyes beseeched him to understand.

"Justin did this to me?" Harry asked in a hush. Tears blurred his vision, but deep down in that quiet place lies could never enter, Harry knew Molly had spoken the truth. Snatches of memory clouded his mind; there was a vague recollection of something having to do with Hogsmeade and a hope of getting to see Snape. His colour became ashen.

"Out. Now. Both of you." Snape spoke softly, but there was no mistaking the authority in his tone. "Hermione, please ask Ron to return in his official capacity. Unless the department has selected someone else?" The question hung in the air and Harry closed his eyes rather than try to see the sympathy he knew Hermione's eyes could never hide.

"You're ordering _me_ out?" thundered Molly and Harry winced. "I don't know who you think you—"

"Molly, please?" interrupted Harry. "It's okay. Severus is doing as he thinks best." He swallowed and did his best to look her directly in the eye. "Besides, I want him here." Guilt ravaged his heart, but his instincts were telling him that he was doing the right thing. "Tell Ron that I'm ready." He wasn't, but he needed answers and that was the best way to get them.

Ron walked in a scant few minutes later, the red cloak of his Auror uniform fluttering around his knees. "You got all kitted up just for me?" asked Harry as Snape elevated the head of his bed so he could sit up properly. He flashed a look of gratitude in Snape's direction.

"Yeah, Williamson thought we'd both remember this is an official interview," scoffed Ron.

"Like I'd forget we're both Aurors and I know the drill as well as you do?" Harry rolled his eyes. "Do you know where my glasses are? I think better when I'm wearing them."

"They broke when you were hurt," said Ron. "We're trying to get them replaced, but the Healers wanted to wait until you woke up." His exasperation rang clearly and Harry wished they had listened to him. "You were hurt five days ago, so let's go back a week. Last Thursday, remember that? We went to Birmingham with a pair of detectives from Scotland Yard."

Harry nodded. "They were aiding us in our investigation. You, me and Naomi. The blokes from Scotland Yard got us into Cadbury on the Muggle side. Naomi was looking for anyone magical on their side since we'd not found anyone suspicious on the wizarding side."

"That's right," said Ron. "And what happened then?"

"Nothing," rasped Harry. "They gave us lists of everyone who worked in production, including anyone who'd quit recently. A group of us spent Friday in Records to see if anyone on the list was either a Squib or had a connection to our world. We'd split the lists; I'd only worked part way through the Ms." He blew out a sigh. "There are a lot of names that start with M."

There was no need to tell Ron it was no different from searching for a needle in a haystack. Ministry records weren't neatly cross-referenced or indexed. There was no handy database to log into or search queries to write. Even Hermione's research spells were of limited value. Still, it was all they had and he refused to accept that it was the act of a random lunatic with no ulterior motive other than sitting back to watch them fail.

"Justin and I met up after work that night in the West End, We had dinner and took in a play. Twelfth Night. All male cast. We had a bit of a row afterwards, nothing much." Harry turned his face away from Ron. "I know you have to ask and I know you don't want to."

"I asked Williamson to have someone else interview you," confessed Ron. "But he thought that you'd be more comfortable with me than anyone else. I can tell him you'd rather speak with him directly. Or Robards."

Harry shook his head. "He's right. It's hard enough, but there are bits you'd know about without having to ask. Like this. We were walking back to the flat, talking about the play, speculating about the actors. You know how it is. I said I'd shag Viola if she had a dick and looked like the bloke who played her. Justin thinks...thought," his voice roughened, "he, the actor, looks like Snape. I said he thinks everyone I think shaggable looks like Snape. We got a bit loud there towards the end of it."

Harry fell silent, lost for the moment to his own thoughts whilst Ron and Snape shared a bemused look. "He's a bit thin, dark hair, nice hands. The actor, I mean. I admitted I have a bit of a thing for dark hair. Justin whinged a bit about how he's not my type and I said it's not like he's Draco Malfoy or anything. He's not. Justin's darker all the way 'round and I find him quite attractive. Found him. Fuck."

"How'd you leave it with him?" asked Ron gently as he wrote a few notes down.

"We, umm, made up." Harry coloured a bit, meaning he looked a little less grey though no less careworn. "I'd rather not go into detail."

"That's alright," said Ron dryly. "I'd rather not hear it. What do you remember next?"

Harry sat up a bit more and fumbled towards the side table for some water. Snape filled a glass and pressed it into his left hand. "Thanks," said Harry when he'd drunk his fill. "The next day would have been Saturday." The day Justin tried to kill him. The day his boyfriend died. "Have they buried him yet, do you know?" he asked thickly.

"I believe the funeral is tomorrow," said Snape. "If you wish attend—"

"No," said Harry flatly. "First, his family won't allow it. They've made no secret of the fact I'm not welcome. I'd rather make my goodbyes in my own fashion. Second, I'm not ready. I don't know that I ever will be. I can't quite wrap my head around the fact that someone else I loved is dead. I can't quite figure out if I'm cursed or those around me are," he added morosely.

"You are not cursed, Mr Potter," declared Snape. "Or we both are." He captured Harry's gaze and held it with steel ribbons. "Loss is part of life and those of us who carry those scars would be well served if we remember that those who have gone on before us would not want us to forget to live fully in the present."

"I think that's Snape's version of reminding you about what Sirius would say," added Ron. "But he's right. I know it hurts that he's gone. I know it doesn't ever go away. You know that as well as anybody, but don't start thinking you've somehow got it worse than everyone else who's lost someone they love."

"Gee, thanks, Ron. You've really got a knack for cheering people up."

"Yeah, well, teaspoon and all that," muttered Ron. "But Severus is right. None of us will ever tell you not to grieve. He was your partner, for Merlin's sake. Of course you miss him. You'd be a nutter not to. But we won't let you wallow in it. So, what happened next?"

"You know I love you, right?" said Harry, his demeanour serious.

Ron turned scarlet. "Would you stop that? Please? You know I don't do all that feelings rot." His eyes darted away. "I love you too, you git," he mumbled and bent his head to scribble furiously on his notepad.

Harry gave a weak chuckle. "Back to it, then." He reached for Snape's hand and held it tight. If Ron noticed, he didn't say anything. "Next morning, umm, we had a bit of a lay-in. It was Saturday, so Justin had the day off work. I had a list of about a dozen families to check out, Cadbury people, you know, so I was going to knock on a few doors and ask a few questions, the usual.

"I started in London and worked my way up to Hogsmeade, asterisked one or two for follow-up...do you know what became of the list? I think it was in my pocket when I was brought in."

Ron's brow furrowed. "Erm, I don't know what became of your clothes after you arrived. You were a bloody mess when we finally able to transport you here and I don't think any of us thought to ask. They must have them somewhere."

"What about my wand? Is it still back at the flat?"

"I have it here." Snape reached inside his robes and extracted Harry well-worn holly and phoenix feather wand. He held it out, hilt first, but Harry's arm refused to cooperate and all he managed was a twitch of his hand and to flex a couple of fingers.

Harry took it left-handed and stared at it for a moment. "This is all wrong," he muttered and handed it back to Snape without further commentary.

"You _will_ heal and you _will_ need this back," growled Snape, his dark eyes flashing. "You have my word on that. As for the rest of your personal effects, I believe that one of the mediwitches who assisted gave them to one of the Aurors who accompanied you here." He arched a brow in question at Ron.

"I'll check with Meredith. She met us here that night. What happened when you got back from Hogsmeade, do you remember?"

"Um..." Harry thought back, and tried with little success to retrace his steps from The Three Broomsticks to his flat. "I think I stopped at the office first? I had dinner at home with Justin. I don't remember what we ate. We had the wireless on. Um, _Dark Magic Delights_ was playing. You know, that song Hermione is always singing. Then Dispatch relayed a message, something about Hogsmeade? It gets fuzzy."

"Was anyone else with you, other than Justin?" asked Ron, his eyes searching Harry's face.

Harry shook his head slowly. "No one else. Just us. It was supposed to be a quiet night at home. We'd been out the night before and we were going to the Burrow the next day for brunch, same as always. Then dinner at Hogwarts with Snape. I mean Severus."

A satisfied gleam entered Snape's eyes at Harry's use of his name and he sat back in his chair, resting his left ankle on his knee.

"I remember going to kiss Justin," said Harry slowly. Deep furrows etched his forehead and he blinked as remembered images flickered in and out of focus. "It hurt, something hurt, and I heard your voice and screaming. I could smell metal burning and it felt like I was being crushed. There was no air and I was choking. My arm…I couldn't get to my wand. There was this gurgling sound and that's it. Then there's nothing 'til I woke up here. What was that? Yesterday?"

Harry wasn't going to speak of his nightmares, the bizarre images of love and sacrifice. Of being swallowed whole by meadows and forests. Of screeching birds and Severus standing like a sentinel to keep the horrors at bay. He focused on Ron's face. "Were you there? Or did I imagine that?"

Ron's expression hardened. "I was there. I firecalled to make certain you'd received the message and stepped through when I saw…well, it doesn't matter what I saw." He raked his hands through his thick red hair. "Officially, the investigation closed the night it all happened, but the family of the decedent," he grimaced at the terminology, "is calling for a coroner's inquest, though the London police are trying to talk them out of it."

"When am I scheduled to be released?" asked Harry after a long moment. He stared down at hand and wiggled his fingers again. His entire arm tingled and he wondered if that was a good sign. He reached over, lifted his arm by the wrist and laid it across his abdomen.

Snape and Ron exchanged a look. "That depends upon a great many things," said Snape. "A specialist will be examining you tomorrow, and then there is the question of where you are to reside. Your choices, as I see them, are to remain in St Mungo's until you are self-sufficient, which could take weeks."

Harry crossed his arms to the extent he was able. "No," he gritted. "Next?"

"Well, as I understand it," said Ron as he scratched his head, "you already heard Mum and Hermione fighting over you, so there's the Burrow or Grimmauld Place."

"There is also the flat you shared with your partner," stated Snape, and if there was any inflection in his tone, Harry couldn't hear it. "Or there is another possibility."

None of Harry's choices sounded particularly appealing. He refused categorically to remain in hospital and he wasn't all that keen on recuperating at the Burrow. He knew Molly meant well, but on a quiet day it was busier than Charing Cross Station and bedlam when the entire family was about. Grimmauld Place would be restful enough; Ron and Hermione knew to give him time and space, but he loathed the place, and he couldn't bear to think about returning to his flat alone.

"What possibility is that?" asked Harry, refusing to get his hopes up.

"Return to Hogwarts with me where you will have full access to Healers, to house-elves who will assist you with daily care, to potions tailored specifically to your needs, and to someone who has as much of a vested interest in seeing you regain your health as you do." Snape spoke evenly, but Harry heard underneath the words a plea to give them with a chance to see if a relationship would be possible.

It was too soon, but Snape wouldn't be the embodiment of Slytherin House if he didn't reach out with both hands and snatch at opportunity when it slithered within his grasp. "Ron? Could you give me a moment with Severus? I need to settle a few things with him before I decide anything."

Ron rose from his chair and stood by Harry's bed. "I've all I need as far as the investigation's concerned, but let me say this and then I'll leave." He wet his lips nervously and shifted his weight from foot to foot. "Severus is a good man and you could do a lot worse. I know you're not over Justin, nowhere near, in fact. I can't imagine how much it hurts right now, and then to have us all rather dump you in Snape's lap…it's not that we don't get it. We do. We also know you and how you like to shut us out when you've been wounded and, well, he'll see to it that you take care of yourself."

"Ron…"

"I know, I know. I'm going, but I didn't say anything the whole time we were at Hogwarts, did I? So I'm just putting in a word for going with Severus to Hogwarts. I reckon he'll even keep Skeeter away from you and the last thing you want is the _Prophet_ poking its nose into this." He gave Harry an awkward pat on the leg. "Get some sleep," he added and left quietly.

An uneasy peace settled between Harry and Snape, each of them lost to their own thoughts until Harry sighed and closed his eyes. "What do you see happening between us?"

"Nothing beyond the bounds of friendship," said Snape at long last. "For the time being." He looked up and met Harry's guarded green eyes. "Had your relationship died a natural death—"

"What makes you think it would have ended?" demanded Harry. "I loved him."

"Yes, and no one is disputing that. But you said yourself that he was uncomfortable being seen with you in public and that his family would not accept his relationship with you. He was heir to lands and title. In his family's eyes, you are little more than a policeman, a commoner with nothing to recommend you. And let's not overlook the fact that you cannot provide the Finch-Fletchleys with their next generation of inbred little idiots." Snape's cheeks were flushed by the time he finished his diatribe.

He hung his head and took a deep breath. "I cannot imagine that you would be willing to spend the rest of your life with a man so at odds with himself that he would deny you the smallest scraps of affection when there were others about to see them. You deserve someone at your side who is proud to be seen with you, who regards you as an equal in every respect."

"And I suppose you believe yourself to be that man?" Harry's lip curled in disgust—not with Snape, but with the whole situation, with the disaster his life had become. "Does it even matter to you that I'm not the least bit interested? I can't..." Bile rose in his throat and he swallowed convulsively. Merlin, the thought of being with anyone else made his skin crawl.

"Do you truly believe me to be so insensitive that I would entertain such a notion?" asked Snape, aghast. "I meant that, at some point, in the distant future, when you're ready, _if_ you should reach that point, I would be amenable to courting you properly." He scrubbed a hand over his face and leaned back, uncertainty etched into his strong features. "The very last thing I want is for you to feel pressured into something you're not ready for."

"Well, that would be a first," said Harry bitterly. He sighed. "I apologise. I'm tired. My back hurts and I still don't know what happened to Justin. Molly wants me to stay at the Burrow." He shook his head. "She means well, but I want to go home."

"I'm not certain that's wise."

"Not to stay," Harry amended. "But I need to go...go through his things, talk to an estate agent, that sort of thing." His heart clenched and he gazed blindly at the wall. A corner of his mind noted a few flower arrangements on a nearby cabinet. He supposed they were thought to be cheerful. They weren't. His world was little more than shades of grey.

"And after?"

Harry turned empty eyes on Snape. "After? We'll see if your friends were right about your bedside manner." A flicker of curiosity appeared. "How did you know I'd been hurt?"

"Ms Granger—Hermione firecalled me once the Healers knew for certain you were out of danger. I've been here ever since."

"Why, though? You're not on the list." Ron was Harry's designated next-of-kin and it was understood that the Weasleys were Harry's family.

Snape squared his shoulders. "I was invited to remain by Ron and Hermione, especially since I promised to brew anything you might require should the need arise—and I assure you it will. And, as I mentioned before, I have a vested interest in seeing you recover." His eyes softened and he regarded Harry with some affection. "Even as a portrait, Albus is no less of a busybody than he was when you knew him."

"I can't say I'm surprised." Harry yawned and rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand. "Let Ron and Hermione know that I've agreed to go to Hogwarts once I've dealt with everything. I might need to borrow Kreacher, but I'll let them know later." He closed his eyes and Snape lowered the bed so he might rest more comfortably.

"For you?" whispered Snape. "Anything. Always."

ssHPss

The next few days were filled with a whirlwind of mediwizards and Healers, including a Muggleborn neurologist who assisted with a bit of surgery conducted with a wand as fine as a needle. Harry then spent a painful twenty-four hours under a partial Body-bind to give the nerves a chance to regenerate, an experience he wasn't certain he wouldn't even wish on Lucius Malfoy.

Through it all he bore Molly and Snape's hovering with his usual amount of patience. If he'd been able to use his wand at all, he would have hexed them sixteen ways from Sunday, but since he was barely able to hold it, had to content himself with snarling at them. On bad days, he slept.

The day he hobbled slowly, painfully, from bed to bathroom and back was the day Harry checked himself out of St Mungo's. He Flooed immediately to his flat, warning the others not to follow. "It'll be shut," he warned as he stood unsteadily in front of the blazing fire, "and no amount of blasting will help."

"But, Harry..."

Harry cut Hermione off with a pointed glare. "I need a few days to myself. If you've done as you promised, Kreacher will be there to be my minder until I'm ready to go to Hogwarts."

"Actually, mate," confessed Ron slowly, "Kreacher is minding Rose, so Severus is sending a couple of house-elves from Hogwarts to help you out."

"Neehai and Spourful," added Snape. He crossed his arms and glowered as Harry took a shaky step forward, but made no move to assist him. A week spent with Harry had taught him that such overtures were more likely to be met with anger than gratitude. Harry was hurting body and soul, they all knew that, and Snape knew that ground given now would likely be regained later. "You've met them both. They've been told to keep their fawning to a minimum."

The midsummer sun streamed into Harry's flat, painting the walls with a soft golden glow. The table he'd hidden beneath had been repaired. The bloodstains were gone. The chair Ron had toppled was righted.

The flat was silent as a tomb, devoid of the life and love that once filled it. Harry limped over to an easy chair and flopped into it. He stared at the fire and watched as the flames danced. No disembodied head floated on tongues of amber and gold. No one stepped through. Emptiness consumed him.

A soft pop near his elbow pulled his attention away from the fire. He blinked once and turned his head.

"I is wondering," the house-elf said timidly, "if I is to be bringing you anything."

"No," said Harry flatly. He turned his attention back to the fire and watched.

Hours passed. The sun sank slowly, painting the walls fiery red. Magenta clouds edged in gold hung in a lilac sky and Harry glanced out the window as a bird flew by, seeing off in the distance the dome of St Paul's. _Not an owl, then. Good_.

His stomach growled and the house-elf reappeared, tugging nervously on Harry's sleeve. "The headmaster is ordering us to make certain Harry Potter is eating."

"I'm not hungry." Harry's stomach gurgled again, giving lie to his words. His body demanded sustenance, but he doubted his ability to eat anything. The lump that settled in his throat barely allowed breath.

He wanted his life back. He wanted to be able to use magic without effort. He wanted to lead his team through the twists and turns of an investigation. Most of all, he wanted to see Justin's smile, to hear his laugh, to feel his arms around him. But what he wanted and what life offered seldom matched up.

He watched the sun set. Several hours later, he watched the moon slip beneath the horizon. The sky was already pale blue again, the buildings silhouetted by the rising sun, but he couldn't bring himself to crawl into his cold, lonely bed.

"Neehai?" Harry's voice was rough, thick. There was a quiet pop and the other house-elf stared up at him with deep blue eyes. "I'd like pumpkin juice and toast, and a blanket." He struggled to feet made numb from hours of sitting and hobbled to the couch where he curled into a loose ball, his throbbing head resting on the arm.

"There is another bed upstairs," ventured Neehai. "I is thinking perhaps Harry Po—"

"Pumpkin juice and toast," interrupted Harry. "And a blanket."

Neehai peered over his—her? Harry wasn't certain—shoulder and nodded. "As you wish." The house-elf vanished and reappeared almost instantly with the desired items. Harry gulped down the pumpkin juice and managed half of the plate of toast before covering himself up and, at long last, closing his eyes to get some much-needed sleep.

It was after noon when Harry awoke to find Severus Snape seated at his table. Rolls of parchment covered the surface and he heard the rapid scratching of a quill. He pushed himself up into a sitting position and glared hotly. "I told you not to come through."

"You also said the Floo would be closed," replied Snape as he continued to write. "And that no amount of blasting would open it up again." He turned to look at Harry. "As you can see, the Floo remains closed and your fireplace is intact."

Harry frowned and patted his robes, searching for his wand. After locating it, he tried to cast a few detection spells that fizzled and died the moment they left his wand. He tried them again left-handed and fared no better. Useless. He was useless. "The wards should have kept you out," he grumbled.

"Probably, but the house-elves can bypass them easily enough." Snape turned back to his parchment and started writing. "They were able to bring me through." He continued to write for a few minutes, and then set down his quill, rose from the table and sat next to Harry. "The house-elves tell me you've had pumpkin juice and a bite of toast. That you spent the better part of a full day staring out the window. Mourn as you will, but I will not lose you to grief, Harry."

Harry leaned his head against the back of the couch and stared. There was a small blotch of plaster above the mantelpiece and he wondered if it had been hanging there since the building was constructed and how many painters had missed it over the years. Maybe he should take some sandpaper to it and smooth it out.

"I wanted to be left alone," he said, directing his remarks to the ceiling. "If you were anyone else, I'd have the house-elves put you out, but seeing as they're your house-elves, I reckon it would be a waste of time." He lifted his head a bit and looked at Snape out of the corner of his eye. "You'll have to make yourself at home since I have no intention of playing host." His voice roughened. "But I'm glad you're here. It's too..." He paused, searching for a word. "Big," he decided. "There's too much space and not enough of me left to fill it."

"Do you still intend to sell it?"

"Yeah. This...yeah. Yes, I mean." Harry pushed his glasses up onto his forehead and pinched at the bridge of his nose. "I don't know where to begin," he confessed. "Should I send his things to his family? I can't imagine they'd want them, but I can't just throw them out. I don't know what to do." His voice broke on the last word and he coughed to hide it.

"What do you hope to accomplish here before you come with me to Hogwarts?"

"I don't know, okay? I don't know," shouted Harry, as his sorrow became rage. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do or how I'm supposed to feel. It's nothing like when Sirius died or Lupin or Fred. It's like...it's like..." He stopped suddenly and stared at Snape, his jaw hanging open. Blood drained from his face and for a moment spots swam before his eyes. He swayed and clutched at the arm of the sofa.

"It's like when you died," he whispered. "Or I thought you had. When I saw your memories." A dizzying rush of remembrance assaulted him and he was helpless before it. "When I knew," he continued in a hush, "when I realised what I'd lost, how much you'd been helping me and how alone I felt. This feels the same. It's just me, alone, and no one else can do this for me."

Confusion filled Snape's eyes and his brow furrowed as he returned Harry's gaze. "I don't understand."

"You don't have to," said Harry, feeling a rush of catharsis without really knowing why. "I know what I have to do now." He climbed clumsily to his feet. "But you can start by helping me up the stairs. I need to shower. After that, I'll need food and some sleep. Stay or don't, it's your decision, but we'll sort all this out tomorrow."

ssHPss

When Harry returned to Hogwarts this time he brought with him three large trunks, a number of valises and a small library's worth of books. It was an improvement over the days when his most valued possessions fit inside a school trunk with room to spare.

Harry was settled into a set of rooms in the headmaster's tower located halfway up the spiralling staircase he rode to Snape's office. It was smaller than Harry expected, but the furnishings were chosen for comfort rather than appearance and Harry felt immediately at home. When he was shown to the bedroom, he found the house-elves busy fitting his clothing into a tall wardrobe that was already bursting at the seams with Snape's things.

"Surely there's somewhere else I can stay?" he said, bewildered. His hand rested on the carved pillar of the foot board and he gazed longingly at the massive antique bed. It was covered with a greyish-blue duvet that looked satiny to Harry. The sheets were crisp white cotton and half a dozen plump pillows beckoned. "I didn't mean to put you out." Still, he stroked the soft covers, unwilling to leave even if it meant sharing for the time being.

"You've done nothing of the sort," said Snape. "I will be near at hand in case you need anything. Plus, my laboratory is directly below us and your Healers have provided me with a rather extensive list of potions they expect you to take. And I've been told to allow four to six hours per day for your rehabilitation."

"Where do you plan to sleep?" The question was out of Harry's mouth before he had a chance to consider the implications and a significant part of him wished he'd kept quiet. Even back at his flat he found himself wondering if it would be too forward to crawl into the same bed Snape slept in, if only to assuage his loneliness.

Snape pointed his wand at a nearby chair. The delicately curving legs shortened and the embroidered seat elongated into a narrow cushion that could barely be called a bed. "Trust me, I've slept in far worse. It will be quite comfortable once I've added a Cushioning Charm." And the house-elves reworked it a bit.

The next morning, Snape helped him to the Room of Requirement, which was commandeered as a rehabilitation centre for Harry's use. Harry watched as Snape paced in front of a blank wall three times and hobbled along behind him into a room filled with gleaming equipment. Floor to ceiling mirrors lined two walls and the floor had thick mats and a number of large balls scattered across it.

"I've no idea how to use this," said Harry as he looked around in astonishment. "I've seen stuff like this, of course, but flying was always exercise enough. Do you know what I'm supposed to do?" Amongst the items Harry brought with him was a five foot scroll of parchment with all of his exercises written down, along with helpful moving illustrations to ensure he got them right.

Snape consulted the parchment and pointed at a set of parallel bars. "It says you're to..." He stopped suddenly and scowled at his reflection. "This won't do." He waved his wand and his outer robes disappeared, leaving him in black trousers that clung to his thighs and a high-necked shirt with buttons down the front that moulded itself to his torso. Harry thought it a definite improvement. "It says here that..."

He was interrupted again, this time by a woman who bounded through the door and whistled at everything the Room had provided. She appeared to be in her middle thirties and was as much shorter than Harry as Harry was of Snape. She also appeared to be formidably cheerful, which did nothing to put Harry at ease. "I'm Cynthia Peters, your physiotherapist, though most everyone calls me Pip."

"Pip? Are you fond of Dickens?" asked Snape slowly as his dark eyes regarded her carefully, the way one might examine a Blast Ended Skrewt that had been far too quiet for much too long. She was dressed much as Snape, though in deep purple and blinding pink, and her light brown hair was gathered in a messy ponytail secured with a bright green ribbon.

She stared at him quizzically. "Dickens? Ugh. No. When I was little, I dropped a rock down a well and woke a troll. Mum said I was a 'Fool of a Took' and my Dad took to calling me Pippin." She rolled her eyes. "There's no accounting for parents." She flashed a brilliant grin and clapped her hands together. "I already know you're Harry and you're Severus."

Harry and Snape exchanged an alarmed look, but Pip continued on without pause. "I've been retained by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to provide you with physio five days a week, but just so we're clear, I'm not the one who will be doing the work." Clear hazel eyes gazed at Harry until he nodded.

"It's marvellous that you have a support system," she added as her gaze expanded to encompass Snape. "You will learn rather quickly that you will heal faster with his help than without it." She walked around Harry, her forefinger tapping her lips. "For tomorrow, comfortable shoes—trainers are best—and loose trousers. A track suit if you can get one."

Harry looked at his feet. He wore his usual low boots and a pair of denim jeans that hung on his slender frame. He'd lost weight whilst in St Mungo's and hadn't made any effort to regain it, though Snape poured some sort of nutrient down his throat daily. His long sleeved t-shirt passed muster, though he figured he would purchase a few more for daily wear. "Should Severus transfigure this for today?"

Pip shook her head. "No, though I will ask you to remove your shoes." She pulled her wand and made some changes to the floor whilst Harry struggled with laces. Once he was outfitted to her satisfaction, they began.

Harry quickly learned that Pip was right: he needed Snape's help. She demonstrated each exercise once, and then taught Snape how to correct his form and provided him with the number of repetitions Harry was to do each day. Some of the things she had him do struck him as being ridiculous (crawl around and pick up marbles), but when he started to fall over after three seconds of standing on his left foot unsupported, he revised his opinion.

ssHPss

"Again, Harry."

Harry gritted his teeth and raised his left foot three inches to step up on the low riser in front of him. He clutched at Snape's forearm as he straightened his left leg, so tired his knees were shaking. Sweat plastered his fringe to his forehead and trickled down into his eyes as he brought his right foot up next to his left.

"Step right. You're doing great." Snape's warm voice was encouraging and his dark liquid eyes were as warm as an embrace.

"Hurts," groaned Harry. His left leg had to support his weight as he stepped down to the right, which was the whole point of the exercise, but he kept his hands tight on Snape's forearms and moved as directed.

He, Snape and Pip—he still found it hard to call her Pip—had been at this for a month and Harry could see the improvement in his general muscle tone and coordination, but his foot still dragged when he walked and he could only manage the most rudimentary charms with his wand. On the nights he managed to stay awake past supper, he was working with Flitwick to learn how to cast spells with his left hand, but found that almost more aggravating than not being able to cast at all.

And then there was Snape...

"What are we doing this afternoon?" he gasped between breaths. Who would have thought that stepping up and down off a low riser would prove to more tiring than a six-hour Quidditch match?

"You're sorting lacewing flies."

Harry snorted. "You're just happy to have free labour." He looked at his feet as they came together and moved his left foot back up to the riser again. His hip felt like it was on fire and his fingers tightened on Snape's arms enough to leave marks. "I'm sorry," he said when Snape winced a bit.

"And as I have told you countless times, do not worry about hurting me." Harry had fallen on him, scratched him, bruised him and on one unforgettable occasion, had vomited on him when Snape asked for another set of lunges and Harry over-exerted himself.

"Very good, Harry," came Pip's voice from over in the corner. "I think we'll add another inch tomorrow. I also want to see you walk backwards using the parallel bars."

"How many times, Pip?" asked Snape as he made a notation on Harry's scroll.

"Let's start with ten and see how well he does." She flashed a quicksilver grin at them. "And you don't have to sort lacewing flies if you don't want to."

"Oh, good." The sorting exercises were designed to help Harry with his fine motor skills. It had come as a horrible shock to discover that he wasn't able to cast even the simplest charms. _Wingardium Leviosa_ , a first-year spell, was beyond his abilities, and until he could cast and hold a Shield Charm for three minutes and pass the agility tests whilst casting defensive spells and curses, he would not be cleared for field duty.

"You can devein Flobberworms instead," said Snape as he helped Harry off the riser. "We also have three barrels of scarab shells to crush. All of those are on your list of approved exercises."

"Professor Sprout mentioned that she has an entire greenhouse that needs weeding," said Peters with a wide grin. "I can show Severus how to turn that into a physio exercise if you'd rather work out of doors for a bit. All you have to do to be cleared is walk down the Great Stairs."

"One foot in front of the other," reminded Snape.

Harry growled. Seven flights of stairs without dragging his left foot would leave him too tired to manage much more than sitting on the broad step in front of the castle doors and trembling like a leaf. "I feel like a fucking hostage."

For a moment Snape appeared stricken, but he quickly smoothed his features into a foreboding mask. "I am certain that other arrangements—"

Harry cut him off immediately. From his place on the riser, he was nearly at eye level and he reached forward with his bad hand and lifted Snape's chin so he could meet Snape's gaze. "Don't for a single instant think that I don't appreciate all the sacrifices you've made for me. Pip is right. I wouldn't be this far along without you."

"I only want to see you happy. Hearing that you feel like a hostage is anathema to that." Snape glanced past Harry to where Peters stood, her normally smooth brow furrowed. "Perhaps," he continued, "you've earned a day's respite. You've been hard at work for well over a month now and you've not ventured off the seventh floor since you arrived."

Harry shot Pip a guilty look and let his hands fall, hating the fact that being so near Snape was making him blush. "I've not wanted to. I have you," he said, lowering his voice to keep this between the two of them. He wetted his lips and found himself looking up at Snape through his eyelashes. "I'm not certain this is the best time..."

The door to the Room of Requirement opened and Ron walked in, his red Auror's cloak so bright it appeared to be glowing. Surprised, Harry leapt back, only to stumble, his bad leg collapsing under him.

"Harry!" Snape lunged for him but tripped over the riser. Somehow, he still managed to get his arms around Harry and twisted in mid-air, cushioning Harry's fall. "Are you all right?" he demanded as Harry lay stunned on top of him.

Ron stood in the middle of the room, his wand held loosely in one hand while he scratched the back of his neck with the other. "Am I early then?"

"By about three minutes," declared Snape as he and Pip helped Harry to his feet. "This was meant to be a surprise, not a setback." He held Harry at arm's length and examined every inch of him.

Harry coloured under the scrutiny, hardly daring to meet Ron's eyes, much less Snape's. "You'll probably need to put some bruise paste on me tonight, but I'm fine, Severus. Really." And didn't that just turn the heat up in his cheeks?

"It looks like we're done today, Harry," said Pip. "I'm Pip, by the way." She bounded over and shook Ron's hand with great enthusiasm. "But you still have to do lacewing flies or Flobberworms."

"Or scarabs," added Snape. He brushed his lips against Harry's hair in something that may or may not have been a kiss and squeezed his good arm as he walked past. "I will see you later this afternoon. Ron, I trust you will see that no harm comes to him?"

"You know it," said Ron with a grin. "Pip, it's nice to meet you. Williamson told us you work miracles, and so far it seems he was right." He turned back towards the door and gave a little nod with his head. There was a blur of yellow and Harry's eyes lit up at seeing Rose running in his direction.

She was a little thing, not quite two years old, with dark red hair that poofed out like her head was on fire. Her hazel eyes lit up at seeing her favourite uncle and she squealed in happiness...until she saw Snape. She stopped so suddenly that she might have run into an invisible wall and stared up at him. With all the deliberateness a two year-old could muster, she reached out and walked forward until she had a firm hold on the leg of his trousers.

Hermione ran into the room, ready to scoop her daughter up and out of harm's way, but Harry held up a hand to stop her. He watched as Rose and Snape regarded each other solemnly. "Hello," said Snape with a formal nod of his head.

Rose stared at him and patted his leg. "Harry's."

"No, baby. I'm Harry." He limped over to Snape and clutched his arm as he tried to drop to one knee. It took a moment, but Snape helped him down, keeping his dark eyes fixed on Rose through the entire operation. "I'm Harry," he repeated when he was at eye level with her.

"Harry's," she insisted as she continued to pat Snape's leg. "Harry's."

"Are you saying, Ms Weasley, that I belong to Mr Potter?" Snape's voice was kind, but there was no indication that he was attempting to humour her.

Rose nodded wide-eyed until her courage failed her and she sought the shelter of her mother's arms. "I've no idea what put that thought in her head," said Hermione, flustered. "We came up to take you to the Three Broomsticks for your birthday. Or we can eat here if you'd rather. Severus thought you could use a break. What do you say, Harry? Feel like getting out of the castle for a little while?"

At that moment, Harry was a bit too busy to answer. Snape was helping him to his feet again and appeared a bit reluctant to let go. Harry didn't seem to be in any rush to stand on his own either. Their eyes met and time hung suspended between them. Harry reached out and Snape gathered him in strong arms, holding him close.

"Do you wish to go?" asked Snape. Harry tilted his face back to answer, but Snape lowered his head and their lips touched. The guilt Harry expected to feel never appeared and he kissed back tentatively. Snape drew back and framed Harry's face with his hands. There were questions lining up in Snape's dark eyes, but Harry nodded and kissed him again.

"You may use the Floo in my office," murmured Snape against Harry's hair. "You and your friends. Enjoy your time away from the castle. I shall see you when you return."

Rose pointed and whispered, "Harry's."

Hermione let out a shaky laugh and Harry thought he saw tears glistening in her eyes. "You're right, Rose. Harry's. Master Snape is Harry's."

Snape stepped away from Harry and stood before Rose, his hands clasped firmly behind his back. "I am Severus. Se-ver-us," he repeated slowly. Every toddler he had ever met mangled his name upon attempting it; he expected no different from Rose.

Rose returned his frank gaze with one of her own. "Harry's," she declared.

Harry and the others laughed. He kissed her forehead and ruffled her hair as he smiled. "We'll see what happens. Let me get cleaned up and I'll meet you in Severus' office." He glanced over at Pip and arched a brow at her knowing grin. "I'll be back by three. Will that be acceptable?"

Pip laughed cheerily. "I don't think I need to watch you sort lacewing flies, Harry. And Severus knows what you need to work on. Enjoy your luncheon and know you've earned it. Ron, Hermione, it was a delight." Her grin widened and her laughing eyes settled on Rose. "She has the makings of a Seer, I'll bet. I expect great things from you someday."

Ron groaned. "That's what Mum says, too. Never thought we'd be the ones to have the next Sybill Trelawney." He pointed a shaky finger at Snape and affected a look of horror. "You..." he said in a high, quavering voice, "You're in grave danger!" Harry burst out laughing which threatened to become a full-fledged giggle when Snape rolled his eyes hard.

"My Inner Eye assures me that your days are numbered, Mr Weasley," drawled Snape in a low, dangerous voice. "Of course, I expect you do keep a diary of sorts," he added, his dark eyes gleaming.

Ron's jaw dropped. "You...you made a joke," he said weakly. A slow smile broke and he turned fond eyes on his daughter. "Reckon someday we'll see Master Snape as Uncle Severus, right Rosie?"

Uncertain what was happening around her, Rose pointed at Harry. "That's Uncle Harry." Her finger swung 'round to Snape. "That's Harry's."

"She'll grow out of it," Hermione hastened to assure him.

ssHPss

"It's good to see you're starting to move on, Harry," said Hermione as she cut up a sausage into small pieces and set them on the plate in front of Rose. "Ron's believed all along that you'd end up with Severus."

"Since the Banshee case," amended Ron. "When I saw the two of you together at the Lake. So, how is going between the two of you? Really."

Harry dragged a thick slice of bread through the gravy on his plate. "I've no idea," he admitted, his back to them. "I sleep in his bed; he sleeps on a transfigured chair. I take my meals with him and we talk about the school or the Auror Corps. I think of a dozen ways to curse him when he's pushing me, and I wind up in his arms when it's all too much."

He turned to face them. "I've no libido to speak of, but I'm tired of sleeping alone. I can't ask him to sleep with me, though, because that's all I want—someone to sleep with. I feel like I'm losing my mind. I should hate Justin for what he did to me, and sometimes I do, but the rest of the time I'm just so fu—" Harry hastily censored himself, not wanting Rose to add that particular word to her growing vocabulary. "So damned lonely, and then I feel guilty for wanting to be with someone when I'm not ready yet." He smiled grimly. "Shades of Cho, right?"

"You're being too hard on yourself, mate. Besides, he kissed you. In front of us, I might add." Ron's brow furrowed and he popped a chip into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. "I don't think Justin ever did that."

"We kissed in front of you," protested Harry. "Plenty of times."

"No, Harry," said Hermione gently. "You kissed him in front of us, but he always pulled away. You'd hug him; he'd freeze up. You'd hold his hand; he'd wipe his palm on his trousers. We never saw Justin show you any affection at all. It's one of the things that bothered us so much."

"Dustin." Rose wrinkled her nose and reached for a bit of fish on Harry's plate. "Where's Harry's, mummy? No peas. Fis'. Want fis'."

"Rose doesn't like Justin?" whispered Harry to Ron. He cut up some fried fish for Rose and checked with Hermione before depositing some in front of her.

"No, mate. She never warmed to him and he made no effort with her. Want some meat, Rose?" Ron cut a bit of pot roast up and added it to her growing collection of food. Rose showed a fistful of sausage to the little stuffed Chinese Fireball she had sitting next to her and babbled happily to it.

"How did I not notice?" Harry recalled all the times Justin had declined to hold Rose, the hugs he avoided, the baby kisses he refused and shook his head ruefully. "I made a lot of excuses for him, didn't I?"

Ron and Hermione shared a look. Yes, Harry had excused Justin's behaviour time and again, attributing it to unfamiliarity with babies, to overbearing parents who seldom showed affection, to Justin's self-loathing and poor self-esteem. It had been a poor attempt to bring Justin into the Weasley clan, but deep down, Harry had known Justin would never be a permanent fixture in his life.

"You tried to tell me, but I wasn't ready to hear it," he concluded.

Ron finished off his pot roast and pushed his empty plate away. "We put up with Justin because you loved him, but I don't think any of us will make that mistake again. The thing is, we don't think we'll have to. I know you're not ready to start up with Severus, but no one...well, none of us would object if you did."

"You don't owe Justin a thing, Harry," said Hermione flatly. She cast a sideways glance at Rose, still busy holding a conversation with her dragon, and said in a low voice, "He nearly killed you and I can't forgive him for that. I shouldn't think you need to give him any sort of proper mourning period at all."

Harry's brows shot up. "Been saving that up for a bit, have you?" he asked mildly.

Hermione flushed. "I love you and I hate what he did to you. All things considered, I'm rather glad he topped himself." Her eyes flashed angrily and dared Harry to disagree. He wasn't that foolish. "If we put it to a vote, Percy is the only one who'd say no. Even George likes Severus for you."

"You took a vote? About whether I should date Severus?" Harry tossed his serviette onto the table and buried his hands in his messy black hair. "This is a dream and in a minute Severus is going to shake me awake and tell me I was talking in my sleep again."

"Ginny volunteered to off Draco so you could date Charlie, but Charlie had a few things to say about that," said Ron so evenly that Harry wasn't certain whether Ron was taking the piss or not. "And no, I'm not serious, but it's true that we've all thrown in with Severus. He was brilliant whilst you were in hospital. Mum's all but adopted him. Owls him three or four times a week."

"Think about it, Harry," added Hermione. "You've already taken the first step. Just let it unfold as it will." She started scrubbing Rose's hands and getting her cleaned up enough to leave.

"How's the case coming?" asked Harry as they worked out who was paying for lunch. "I appreciate the owls you lot have been sending, but they don't take the place of being there, you know?"

"We think we know who it is, but we've no evidence. Just hunches and circumstance," said Ron. "Remember when the Death Eaters collapsed the Wobbly Bridge? And twenty or so people died? This bloke's wife was one of them. Name's Robert Perrault and he worked at Cadbury's for a couple of months. Stopped showing up about a week before Hogsmeade."

"He's familiar with the village," added Hermione. "'The one by the ruins' he calls it. He said he didn't know it had a name. He described it as a sleepy place and thought it was a bit like Brigadoon."

"Like where?" Harry had never heard of a place called Brigadoon.

"It's an old story about a village that appears once every hundred years. It's not a real place," said Hermione. "But that's how he described Hogsmeade."

"He had motive and opportunity," said Ron, "but we've nothing more than that. It's not enough to get us a warrant and even though Zoe's positive he's the one, we can't use anything obtained under Legilimency or Veritaserum to investigate further. Scotland Yard is looking into it, but they're hitting as many dead ends as we are."

"Well, keep digging," said Harry. "Are you coming back to the castle or heading back to London?"

"We're going home," said Hermione. "A certain someone needs her N-A-P or she'll become a terror." She gave him a warm smile. "I'm so glad you could come to lunch today. We'll be back on Saturday with cake and presents. Let Snape know to expect a crowd."

"I'm certain he'll be best pleased to hear that," said Harry in amusement.

"Actually, it was his idea," said Ron. "He cares about all of you, Harry, not just the bits he wants for himself." He grinned and patted Harry on the back. "You might as well step through, mate, or we'll be saying goodbye 'til the weekend. We'll go through after you."

Harry gave Hermione a hug and kissed Rose goodbye, promising that she could see "Harry's" the next time she came up to Hogwarts.

ssHPss

"Has anyone ever told you you're a right prick when you want to be?" groused Harry a few weeks after his lunch with Ron and Hermione. He tossed down his quill and stared in frustration at the chicken scratches that barely passed as letters. Two months into his physical therapy he was doing much better with wandwork, but his fine motor skills were lagging behind and he still limped a bit when he was tired.

"You did, just yesterday as I recall. You also called me a bastard and voiced a deep wish that Nagini had been successful with her attack." Snape Vanished the writing instruments and Harry suddenly found himself sitting in front of a piano. He closed his eyes and shook his head.

"I don't play."

"A fact that is entirely immaterial." Snape stood behind him and placed his right hand on the keyboard. His left hand rested on Harry's shoulder and he nuzzled his nose against Harry's hair. "One, two, three, four, five." He played a different note with each finger. "Now you do it."

It wasn't smooth and it wasn't even, but Harry managed to play five notes. "And?" He craned his head back and Snape kissed him lightly.

"Do it again. And again and again. Up and down until you can play them all evenly."

"I think I'd rather do my letters," said Harry softly, but he played his five notes over and over, moving his hand to different parts of the keyboard just to hear something other than F, G, A, B, C over and over.

Harry was still at Hogwarts at the Welcoming Feast, and he watched the Sorting with the same bright-eyed enthusiasm he brought to his own. Over the course of the summer he'd come to know the teachers rather well and he enjoyed listening to the running commentary they conducted in whispers as Professor Sinistra placed the Sorting Hat on each new head. He found it hard not to cheer each new Gryffindor, though he noticed that Snape managed a small smile every time a new Slytherin was announced.

He was all smiles when Snape rose to deliver the start of term announcements, "...and I need not remind you that a dozen cauldrons will be scrubbed for each Weasley product discovered within the castle" made him laugh out loud. The laughter died a minute later when Snape introduced him.

"And it is my pleasure to introduce to you Harry Potter, who will be providing instruction to the sixth and seventh year Practical Uses of Magic students this year." Snape turned to him and applauded as an excited buzz rose from the House tables. A sizable number of older students began to cheer and a very alarmed Harry rose awkwardly to his feet to give a little bow.

"What the hell was that all about?" demanded Harry once they'd returned to Snape's office. "I'm teaching...what am I supposedly teaching this year? Practical Use of Magic? I've never even heard of it! And I'm starting tomorrow? I have a job, in case you've forgotten, one that I'm not ready to give up quite yet." It was the panic speaking and Harry knew it.

A familiar laugh came from one of the portraits and Harry gave Albus Dumbledore a very cross look. "I reckon you put him up to this?"

"Harry. My dear boy," smiled Dumbledore. "Our students didn't perform up to their usual standards on last year's NEWTs, so naturally, Severus requested my advice. I merely reminded him that he had one of the foremost experts right under his roof, one who has not been given the proper clearances to return to his beloved profession, and he took care of the rest."

Harry arched a dubious brow. "I'm an expert in a subject I've never heard of?"

"You might know it as Defence Against the Dark Arts," said Snape, amusement colouring his words. "It took changing the name of the course to break the curse the Dark Lord placed on the position, but it's true that our NEWT scores have dropped. And whilst you've been making tremendous progress on your recovery, you've not yet reached the level of proficiency required for an Auror of your seniority. Besides, I told Kingsley I needed you here and he agreed that having you teach would kill two crups with one stone."

Harry grimaced. "Let's leave the crups out of it and stick to birds, shall we? And how did you manage to drag Kingsley into this? He's not head of the Department anymore. He's Minister for Magic, for Merlin's sake. He has more important things to worry about than whether I'm back on active duty or stuck here for the time being."

Dumbledore's portrait frowned. "Are you unhappy here, Harry?"

"I…" Dimly, Harry recalled Snape telling him all this when he first arrived at Hogwarts and remembered saying he'd love to have the chance to teach a bit to give him something else to do. He never thought Snape would actually take him up on it, though it would have been nice to know about it ahead of time. "No, actually, I'm doing much better than I thought I'd be."

It was true. Harry barely thought about Justin anymore. Instead, it was Severus who filled his mind. He recognised that the only reason he hadn't fallen in love with the man was that he'd not yet given himself permission to do so. Ron and Hermione had helped with that, as had the rest of the Weasleys when they finally admitted that Justin's actions had negated any respect for him they might have had.

"It's just...I'm not certain my spellwork is good enough for me to teach the students how to cast properly."

"Try to cast a non-verbal Stunning spell against me," volunteered Snape. He stood with his back pressed against the wall so that if Harry's spell proved to be strong, he wouldn't be thrown anywhere.

Harry pulled his wand and ran it through his fingers. He stared at it for a bit and then shot Albus a desperate look. He really had no idea what would happen and was terribly afraid of causing Snape harm.

"It will be alright, Harry," Albus assured him. "You can trust Severus to take the necessary precautions."

"It doesn't look like he's taking any at all," complained Harry, but he squared off, took a deep breath and pointed his wand. A second later, Snape collapsed silently to the ground. "Ennervate!" shouted Harry as he ran towards the fallen headmaster and fell to his knees beside him.

"I am fine," Snape assured him as he gazed up at Harry with smouldering dark eyes. "But a bit of assistance will not go amiss." He climbed to his feet, helping Harry as much as Harry was aiding him. "There is one last spell you must be able to perform before you meet the minimum qualifications for the post. I will need to see a corporeal Patronus from you. Full marks if it can carry a message."

A Patronus. Harry had not cast one in months. "Give me a moment," he said. He closed his eyes, thinking back to the lessons he'd had aeons ago with Remus Lupin. Happiness never quite worked for Harry, not if he wanted to produce the brilliant white stag which was known as his. He found himself bidding a final goodbye to Justin's memory—in the Forbidden Forest, oddly enough—and he turned away from his past to peer into his future.

Love bubbled through him as it always did when he was about to utter the incantation to the Patronus Charm. Love for Ron and Hermione. Love for the Weasleys. Love for his chosen profession. Love, he realised, for Severus Snape. " _Expecto Patronum_ ," he murmured with a confident slash of his wand.

He opened his eyes to see his stag standing before him. He bent close and whispered into its ear. "Send that message to Severus Snape. No need to wait for a reply." A flick of his wand sent the Patronus to move the short distance to where Snape stood waiting.

Harry's whisper floated from the stag's mouth. "I think I've fallen in love with you."

Snape moved across the room in three long strides and pulled Harry hard against him. Their lips met and Harry's lips parted willingly. He moaned softly as Snape explored his mouth thoroughly, his heart hammering. This was good. This was right and Harry was filled with joy. "For my next trick," he murmured against Snape's lips, "I think I'll reverse the spell on that chair so you can sleep in your own bed tonight. With me."

 

The Banshee Murders were never officially solved, but Harry and Snape lived happily ever after.


End file.
